Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History
by Velvet Nights and Satin Skies
Summary: This is true for Sam, Amy and Lizzie, three girls in a biker gang who were dropped into Middle Earth. Determined to help the Fellowship in any way they can, macho Sam, innocent Amy, and ditzy Lizzie start to find life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.
1. Meet Our Characters And Their Cool Bikes

**A/N: Yes, shoot me. I'm starting a different series. Enjoy, please, and REVIEW! *Uses Jedi mind trick***

**Disclaimer: Seriously? You thought I owned anything?**

- Sam -

She crouched on the dirt strip that acted as their driveway, the minute pebbles digging into her kneecaps, although she hardly noticed the slight pain. The wrench slipped off the stripped bolt for the third time and she muttered several piquant curses then threw the wrench. It banged against a tree and fell somewhere in the tall grass. She got up and wiped her hands on her dingy white tank top, which was actually a camisole she had stolen from her sister's room three years ago. It was so grease stained and dirty that it couldn't act as anything but a work shirt now, and Sam happily used it as often as she could. She examined the sleek red Harley, the only remnant that had been left behind of her father. She snorted at the thought of him actually getting on this suped-up bike. He had been a fat, lazy man who liked the motorcycle purely for aesthetic value. Sam had repaired it as best she could after he had finally kicked the bucket, and now it was the envy of the neighborhood. She slapped the headlight fondly, and she leaned against the leather saddlebags - emblazoned with a bumper sticker that said SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY - as she looked around her trashy yard. Tires were stacked three high at various edges of the wild, untamed lot. The grass hadn't been mowed in months, and in some places it was knee high. Weeds, especially dandelions, carpeted the lawn all over the place. One crooked tree, stripped of bark except for a few termite-ridden patches, sagged crazily against the back fence, which needed to be repaired badly. A fort had been erected underneath it out of several milk crates and an old blue tarp; the fort had been abandoned for several years, and was now a home to garter snakes and rats.

Sam left her depressing back yard and threw open the screen door to the trailer. It screamed in pain as the rusty hinges were stretched yet again, but she ignored it. She swaggered her way through the dingy house, making her way around broken pieces of Legos and a few flat cigarette butts. A smog of blue smoke hung over the air, and the whole place stank of cigarettes. Sam wrinkled her nose and opened the refrigerator door, careful not to knock it off the hinges again. She took out the quart of milk, checked the expiration date, and sniffed it dubiously. When she decided it wasn't poisonous, she swigged several gulps straight from the bottle. She heard the TV mumble quietly from the living room, and she closed the refrigerator door and slouched inside the living room. On the threadbare sofa was her mother, practically passed out. Sam did a quick beer count, noting the half-empty beer still clenched in her mother's left hand. There were eleven empty beers scattered throughout the room and she was working on her second pack of Camels. Sam closed her eyes for a minute then forced a cheerful smile on her face. "Hey, Mom," she said. Her mother opened one bloodshot eye and grunted something that might be a greeting or a curse, she wasn't sure. The blinds had been drawn all the way down, and the TV was the only light in the dim room. She rolled over and snored loudly, the beer can falling onto the floor and gurgling warm foamy amber liquid over the scuffed linoleum. Sam gritted her teeth. She needed to get out of here.

She went down the narrow hallway and went into her room. It was just as smoggy and filthy as the rest of the trailer, but it didn't bother Sam. She spent as little time as she could in the room, anyway. She tore off the work shirt and dug through the busted dresser that had once been made of polished oak to find something better to wear. She sniffed a black tank top, deemed it wearable, and tugged it on. It was too hot to be wearing all black, but she liked to way it made her look. Besides, what would be the point of having black mascara, black hair and black eyeliner if she didn't wear all black? She slipped out the back door and went over to the Harley that was gleaming invitingly from the driveway. She flipped up the kickstand, thrust the key in the ignition with a shaking hand, and gunned it perhaps louder then necessary. She took off down the road, revving the engine with a loose wrist.

- Amy -

She tapped the desk with one nail, her other hand burrowed in her thick red mane of hair. Her eyes were slitted in concentration and she eyed the math problems with an evil eye. Math was her best subject, and usually she was excellent at it. But today was too hot, and the breeze from the open window felt too inviting. Also, it was her birthday, and it had to be against some kind of law to do math problems on her birthday. Then again, she knew that if she blew it off today she would have about three hours of homework to do tomorrow, and she didn't want to be chained to her room all day. So she brought down the dull pencil and began writing, filling in the blank spaces that dotted the paper like missing teeth. She frowned at the fat, sloppy lines the dull pencil made and she dropped it, letting it roll down on the floor. Burying her face in her hands, she waited. It was too hot. Everything was sweaty and sticky and warm, including the refrigerator. Blowing a hank of red hair out of her eyes, she scooted backwards in her swivel chair and rolled over to her bed to grab her laptop, pushing herself along with her feet. She tapped her password into the computer with practiced ease, then checked her emails. Nothing. Amy sighed and picked up her phone, checking for a "Happy B-day" text from one of her friends. Zippo. Then again, she shouldn't have been expecting that much. Sam and Lizzie were notoriously forgetful, mostly because they argued _all the time_. They probably didn't know her birthday in the first place.

Amy meandered downstairs, stepping neatly over her chubby little brother who as cooing at one of her Barbie dolls, conveniently stripped naked. She raised an eyebrow at the tiptoed, narrow waist, vapid smile, large breasted doll for a moment, then sneered and passed on without comment. Picking her way around various brothers and sisters, all of which were slurping popsicles or squabbling over toys, she reached the kitchen. It had the best view of the street, and she rested her head against the cool glass for a moment. Opening the freezer, she discovered an empty box of popsicles and a nearly empty tray of Klondike bars. Snatching the last one, she flattened both cardboard boxes and tossed them on the counter. She peeled off the aluminum wrapped and sucked noisily at the icy treat, knowing her older brother would probably kill her for eating the last one. But it was her birthday, and she didn't really care how much he fussed. With nine brothers and sisters, birthdays weren't a big thing in the Ricker household. There would be too much expense, and goodness knows they had enough expenses already. She crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball and bounced it on her palm for a moment, then threw it in the trash. She was hot, she was bored, and she had _absolutely nothing to do_.

Something caught her eye. Her yellow Fatboy was looking temptingly inviting on the smooth asphalt driveway. If Lizzie and Sam weren't doing anything else today, maybe they could go to the Ground Round and drink sodas. They were probably the only adolescent biker gang who didn't drink, gamble, or smoke. Come to think of it, the only vice they did have was eating too much popcorn or drinking too much Coke. She spun around and hammered up the stairs, neatly avoiding another sister who was crying over her spoiled popsicle. Amy banged open her door and nearly collided with her older sister Kathy. With a muttered apology, she kicked her sister out and locked the door. Rummaging through her clothes - which were all folded and organized by color - she yanked out one of her many graphic tees. This one was orange with an Aerospatiale logo on it. Pulling her damp green tank top over her head, she pulled on her orange tee and shoved herself into a pair of cutoff jeans. Using one of the scrunchies she always had hanging on her wrist, she tugged back her mane of wild red hair into a loose pony tail. She didn't have time for anything else, and she wanted to go for a ride. Thundering down the stairs once more, she took one of the sharp corners that honeycombed their house and banged on the door to her mother's office. "Mom! I'm going for a ride, okay?" she called. Not waiting for an answer - if her mother was on the phone, she wouldn't answer anyway - she threw open the back door and headed straight for her yellow Fatboy.

Sliding one leg over the bulky motorcycle, she had a sudden thought and dug her cell phone out of her pocket. It didn't take long to locate Lizzie's number - after all, the only people in her phone were her family, Sam, and Lizzie. She sent a quick text to ask her where she wanted to hang out; it wasn't like Lizzie could be doing anything serious, anyway. The blonde model rarely had anything serious to do. Come to think of it, the only thing Lizzie considered _serious_ was either shaving her legs or using a new facial moisturizer. Sam jingled her keys for a moment then flipped it into the ignition. She gunned the engine, then pushed up the kickstand. It was a beautiful autumn day for a ride, and she planned to make every second of it count. She pulled out of the driveway without too much noise, and began speeding down the bumpy dirt road.

- Lizzie -

She stuck one long tanned leg up in the air and closed her eyes. It was deliciously cool in her air-conditioned room, and she liked the chilly blast of cold air that was sending goose bumps down her legs. The TV in her room was playing a new _CSI_ show, and the radio was thumping happily in the background, Taylor Swift crooning out another heartbreaking song. Lizzie flipped a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder and reached for a bottle of nail polish. She narrowed her eyes - which color to choose today? - and eventually settled for a bright red. Red was so sexy. She brandished her nail polish brush like a tool of liberation, and began painting her toenails with the practiced ease of a beautician. She painted her nails almost every day, and she had gotten good at it over the years. Her phone rang - another Taylor Swift song, this one harsher and louder - and then it silenced, indicating she had a text. Pausing in her ministrations concerning her toenails, she reached for her Blackberry and scrolled through it. It was a text from her friend Amy, short, simple, and to the point,, much like Amy herself: _GR or CB_? Only Lizzie would have any idea what Amy meant by that. It was Amy-speak for "Do you wanna hang out at the Ground Round or at the Cracker Barrel?". Pleased that she had been asked for her opinion, Lizzie texted back _GR_. The Ground Round had cuter waiters, and there was a guy there who always flirted with her.

Lizzie slunk to her closet and examined her clothes. Choices, choices. She eventually settled on her "Casual Wear", which meant a pair of stonewashed shorts that was stylishly frayed and a tight pink tank top. She kicked herself into the shorts and buttoned them around her slim waist. She picked up the hem of her shirt and examined her rear end in the full length mirror that decorated one wall. Frowning - her butt was always too flat for her liking, even though she had quite a nice figure - she pulled off her shirt and tugged her pink tank top on. She studied herself, and decided to accessorize. They might run into one or two of those cute waiters, and she wanted to look nice. Digging through her jewelry box, she pulled out a pair of earrings and tilted her head to the side to put them in. Sliding a few bracelets on her arms and fastening a locket around her neck, she picked up her makeup brush and twirled a little bit of blush along her cheeks. Blowing a kiss to herself, she sprayed her _Perfectly Peachy_ perfume on each wrist, dabbed a bit on her neck, and sprayed a bit in her cleavage for good measure.

She skipped downstairs, forgetting to shut off either the TV or the radio, and tapped on her father's bedroom door. "Daddy? I'm going to the Ground Round with my friends, 'kay?" There was a mumbled assent, and Lizzie giggled then continued on. As she went through her house to the garage, she pulled her hair back in a ponytail. It would look so cute, she decided, if she had one of those butterfly clips to decorate the pink hair tie, but there couldn't be anything for it. She banged open the garage door and rolled her neon-pink-custom-made Tomahawk onto the driveway. It had a few green and yellow art decals scattered on the gleaming pink body, and she slid one leg seductively over the side. She saw the gardener, Tony, watching her out of the corner of his eye, and she flipped her hair. Being the center of attention always pleased the blonde model. She checked her makeup in her vanity mirror and tossed her blonde hair, sneaking a flirty smile at Tony, who jerked his head back at her. She kicked the kickstand up and turned it on, gunning it loudly to attract Tony's attention again. It worked, and she surged forward knowing his dark eyes were watching her from behind.

09

Sam already had a booth in the Ground Round when Amy got there. She was lounging against the wall, both hands gripping a cool, frosty glass half full of root beer. Her short brown hair was tousled from zipping along the highway, and when Amy approached her, her brown eyes opened and she offered a sideways grin that had become her trademark. "Hey, girlfriend," she said with a little smile. "Where've you been? I missed you - got your text, by the way." She held up her battered phone as Amy got onto the booth across from her. The short redhead had attempted to tame her mass of red curls by pulling it back in a ponytail, but some of it hung loose around her face and her bangs were hanging in her green eyes again. Amy sighed and blew a few red curls out of her face and leaned against the wall.

"Oh, man, it's hot out," she moaned. "I haven't seen you all week. How's your mom?" Amy never failed to ask about Sam's alcoholic mother. Sam's brown eyes flitted downwards as she lied easily to her friend. She felt bad about lying to the innocent redhead, but then again it was so damned easy to lie to Amy. She believed everything she heard, the naive little thing.

"Mom's doin' better, you know, drinking a lot less." Sam said quietly. Then she looked up and forced a grin. "But at least she's drinking in hot weather. Hey, let's get you a soda. Cherry coke, right?" she asked, changing the subject. It was a plot Amy saw right through, and she decided to let the matter drop.

"Yeah, cherry coke." Amy said. The bell above the door tinkled and they both looked up. Sam and Amy groaned simultaneously. "I wish she was a little _less _pretty, you know?" Amy said after a moment of silence. They both observed their bubbly blonde friend who had just entered, attracting most of the male attention in the room. Lizzie sat down next to them, a sunny smile on her face.

"Oh, my God, I haven't seen you guys in forever! How have you been?" Lizzie asked with a high giggle. Sam scowled at her friend/enemy.

"You look like Malibu-Barbie," Sam snapped. "Can you _not_ dress like a five dollar whore when I'm around, at least?" It was the usual jab. Sam didn't like Lizzie because she was pretty and popular and cute, and Lizzie didn't like Sam because she was tough, sarcastic, and defensive. Lizzie's blue eyes narrowed as she scowled at her friend/enemy.

"At least I don't look like trailer trash, _Samantha_," Lizzie snapped, using Sam's full name to get a rise out of her. Amy held up her hands pleadingly, kicking Sam under the table to keep her from rising to the bait. Sam glanced at her friend and sighed, letting the comment go by without slapping Lizzie.

"Look, guys, its too hot to be fighting," Amy said. "Let's just have a drink or two and chill out, okay?" The waiter arrived, giving the usual root beet, cherry coke and ginger ale to the three regular customers. He gave his roguish grin at Lizzie and departed, leaving the three girls with icy cold drinks that they were already slurping down. After their thirst had been sated for the moment, Sam began digging in her pocket.

"Hey, happy birthday, Amy," she said. She took out a pocket knife and spun it over to Amy. "Wasn't sure what to get you or anything, so I got you that. And I wasn't about to get you a card and all that crap, so be happy with it." By the pink flush on Amy's cheeks, she was pleased with it. At least somebody remembered. Lizzie looked horror-stricken, then covered it up with a girlish half-giggle.

"Oh, Amy, I left your present at home. I forgot it, sorry," she said. Knowing Lizzie, she had probably forgotten entirely, but Amy wasn't perturbed. Half an hour ago she had been wondering if anybody remembered at all, and now she had received a birthday gift from the most likely person to forget it.

They finished their drinks and stepped out into the glare of the midday sun, reluctantly leaving the cool air conditioning of the restaurant. Getting on their bikes, they revved the engines and spun off, taking the corner a little too sharply. None of them saw the big black Suburban that plunged into the three bikes and sent the three teenagers sprawling.


	2. Heaven Really Bites, Doncha Think?

**A/N: Second chapter! Whoo!**

**Disclaimer: I no sell. You no sue.**

There should be pain. Lizzie knew that. She remembered pulling out of the parking lot behind Sam and Amy, seeing the Suburban barreling towards them, heard the incessant blare of the horn…then nothing but a loud, shrieking crash and a nothingness that enveloped her in a mild warmth. She wasn't quite sure if it was light or dark - her eyes wouldn't open when she told them to, and she couldn't move at all when she tried to get up. There was the strange feeling of lying prone of something very hard and flat, a feeling Lizzie had never felt before, and then the peculiar prickling sensation sweeping her from head to foot. Her whole body quivered, every hair on edge, pins and needles jabbing at her and making her most uncomfortable, and then it faded away. There was no pain, to Lizzie's great relief, and she happily discovered she was able to get up. She did so, blinking very hard and rubbing her baby blue eyes as she squinted into the mist. A very thick, very damp fog was swallowing her, and she batted aside sheets of it as she looked around. Vaguely she was able to discern a few gigantic trees scattered here and there, and the grass she was standing on - or rather standing _in_ - was knee high and it tickled her bare legs annoyingly. She stumbled towards the trees, intent on finding something solid to lean against, when she trod upon something very soft and rather cushy. The Soft And Cushy Thing That Lizzie Trod Upon gave a most un-cushy-like squawk, like a mixture of a yelp, a groan, and a sneeze all at once. She back pedaled and peered at the squooshy thing until she was able to make out a foggy figure in the thick mist. As soon as she saw the pile of red hair flopping most ungracefully in front of her face, Lizzie gave a squeal of delight and pounced upon her friend. "Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god! I thought I was dead and alone in heaven with nobody I knew but now you're here and everything's okay and heaven really sucks doncha think and where exactly are we?"

Amy was still catching her breath from Lizzie's accidental trampling when Lizzie's barrage of questions and statements reached her ears. She winced, cracked her jaw a few times, then rubbed her head. The mysterious prickling sensation had left a weird buzzing noise in her ears, and she tried dropping her jaw again to get rid of it. Her ears popped, whined, and the buzzing stopped. She got to her feet unaided by Lizzie, who was still too excited at the prospect of being in the middle of nowhere with one of her best friends to be of any assistance. The thick fog obscured practically everything, and the only thing Amy could see was Lizzie's long, messy ponytail and her big blue eyes. "I have no idea, Liz, and shut up so I can think," Amy said, discovering her voice was very hoarse, as if she had been screaming for hours and could hardly talk. She rubbed her eyes and squinted into the glare of the fog; the sunlight was almost completely gone, but her eyes felt very weak and unused in this new setting. She tossed back her head and tugged her mane of thick red curls out of her eyes, wishing desperately that her hair tie had stayed with her, like Lizzie's had. Amy slapped her cheeks lightly a few times to try and wake herself up, then looked around. "You know, I have no idea where we are. Hey, Lizzie, come over here." Lizzie obediently came over to Amy, who promptly twisted a small patch of skin on Lizzie's arm. The blonde howled with pain and swatted her redheaded friend.

"For crying out loud! What was that for?" Lizzie cried, examining the bright pink patch where Amy had pinched her. Amy sighed and turned her attention away from the blonde. If it was heaven, there wouldn't be pain, theoretically. She explained this to Lizzie, who wasn't listening anymore and was clinging to a tree like she had just been scalded by a teapot. "Shh! What was that?" Lizzie whimpered. Amy listened hard, and then she heard it too; a stumbling crackle of someone shambling closer. Amy was about to shove Lizzie out of the way and scramble up the tree just in case it was a wild animal approaching them, when she heard a faint curse in a very familiar way.

"For crying out loud!"

"Sam?" Amy called into the fog. "Sam, is that you?" There was a long pause, and Amy suddenly recalled all the stories she had read about deceiving creatures in mist that bewitched you. She was about to hop to it and scale the tree anyway when Sam called back, this time her voice sounding very relieved and a little dubious.

"Amy? Is that you? It's Sam. Keep talking, I can't see you yet." Sam stumbled her way over to the sound of Amy's voice and was very relieved to see the untidy mop of red hair and the shy grin. She hugged her fiercely and caught sight of Lizzie, who was still looking foolishly frightened and clinging to the tree. "You couldn't get rid of her?" Sam muttered in Amy's ear. Amy gave her a look which slightly chastised the brunette girl. "Where are we?"

"Lizzie and I were just talking about that," Amy said. "Lizzie thinks we're in heaven, but I pinched her and she felt it. I don't think there would be pain in heaven, don't you think?" Amy's voice contained the all-too-familiar note of worry. This was the tone of voice which had prompted Lizzie to nickname her "Mom" when Amy began fussing too much. "We could be dead," she said offhandedly. "Although I'm not sure I mind. My parents will flip, though."

"We're _dead_?" Lizzie shrieked, who had not followed through with her thought that they were in heaven. She hadn't remembered that one has to _die_ before you got into the otherworldly place. "Shit! You mean we can't go back? This _sucks_! I keep all my stuff on Earth! I can't be dead!" she was rapidly dissolving into a hysterical lump, preparing to embark on one of Lizzie's Trademark Temper Tantrums, on sale now for only $19.95! Amy shook Lizzie's arm hard, and she was jolted back into sniffling and wailing. Sam looked as though she would prefer to slap the cheap blonde, but she let Amy handle it.

"Oh, shut your pie-hole, Lizzie," Sam snapped. "Stop crying about being dead. Is it so bad? I mean, there isn't any angels or shit like that, but it's quiet at least. Right?" She looked to Amy for support, who reluctantly gave it. All too many times Amy had to play referee between the shaggy-haired brunette and the shallow blonde model.

"Both of you, stop it," Amy said commandingly. "We need to figure out a plan of action, and how we can get out of here." Both Sam and Lizzie voiced their opinions at the same time, which naturally led to a quarrel about who should speak first. Their voices escalated until they were shouting at each other on either side of Amy, who was stopping her ears with her fingers and getting ready to scream at both of them in her best "Mom" voice and get them to shut up. It's quite possible that they would have continued like this, bickering and fighting, until the cows came home from the other side of the world, but there was a sickeningly loud _Zzziiiiipp_! and an arrow sprouted from Sam's shoulder.

Between the three of them, Sam had the highest pain threshold, but feeling an arrow bury itself in her shoulder made her pain ricochet right off the scale. She gave a bloodcurdling scream that made every hair rise on Amy's neck and dropped to her knees, her right hand instantly going to her left shoulder. Blood had already drenched her arm and was dripping on the long grass, and the sight of it made Lizzie woozy. Sam didn't stop screaming until she felt Amy kneel next to her and wrap her fingers around the shaft of the arrow. Then she didn't just scream, she shrieked for the world to hear. The merest touch of Amy's fingers on the arrow sent bolts of shuddering pain down her very core. It was unbelievably painful, too large and sharp for Sam to fully comprehend how much pain she was in. Dimly she was aware that Lizzie fainted next to her in a crumpled heap, and Amy looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Amy had no idea what to do. Sam's face had the flat, terrified expression of calves about to be slaughtered in front of their mothers. The piercing shrieks that were emanating from her mouth were enough to wake the dead, and Amy didn't know how to shut her up. She felt like screaming herself, although from helplessness, not from pain. Every time she tried to pull the arrow out, no matter how fast she moved or how gently she tried to pull, Sam's back arched and she spiraled into a fresh bout of screams. Lizzie was ashen white and still unconscious, and Amy had a nasty feeling that Sam would pass out if she didn't get that arrow out soon. She was just on the verge of pinning Sam to the ground and yanking the arrow out as quickly as possible when she saw a very large, very muscular figure bulling through the sheets of mist. He shoved Amy aside as though she were a sack of flour, and Amy felt herself tumble in a very undignified heap.

The man was tall and wide, with broad shoulders and a thick waist, a heavy-looking shield strapped firmly on his back. A cloak, trimmed with fur, swished on the ground and descended to his boots. An intricately engraved scabbard hung at his hip, and the hilt of a large sword was sheathed in it. Chain-mail gloves were stripped off to reveal a pair of large, calloused hands with an ornate signet ring on his middle finger. Reddish blonde hair was chopped short at his rugged jaw line, and his eyes were dark green. He examined the arrow embedded in Sam's shoulders, then swore loudly in a different language. He looked at Lizzie, who was still very white, and then at Amy, who was the only one who appeared to be uninjured. "Get your friend," he ordered. Amy almost cried with relief when she heard he spoke English, although with an indefinable accent. "Is she harmed?" he asked. When Amy didn't answer right away he shook her, his huge hand almost swallowing her small shoulder. "Speak, girl! Do you understand me?"

"Y- yes," Amy said, snapping out of it. "No, she's fine. Help her, please, help Sam now!" The man nodded once in a tight, jerky way, the picked up Sam gently in his arms. Sam had always been the largest framed girl of their little trio, but in their mysterious rescuers arms she looked positively petite. Amy crawled over to Lizzie and began shaking her, alternately slapping her cheek and pinching her nose. "Wake up, Lizzie, get up or I'll sit on you! Wake up, _now, _I mean it!" Lizzie's eyelashes fluttered once, twice, and then her eyes shot open. Amy dragged her to her feet before the ditzy blonde could say a word and began following their tall rescuer through the mist.

They hadn't been walking long before they reached a small hollow that was set into a hill. A campfire blazed merrily, although the cheerful campfire was a stark contrast to the faces of the men who were sitting around it. There were two men smoking pipes, one of them with a very long gray beard, the other with a roguish, handsome face, and a very short man who was brandishing an axe. The short man had a thick, bushy red beard that had been tamed into two wild braids. Behind them, one of them wielding a short sword, were four children with cloaks and no shoes. Amy managed to seize these few meager details before she saw their rescuer lay Sam down gently near the fire. She was vaguely aware of another, lankier figure bounding over, and she looked up. He was the only one holding a bow and arrow in his fists, and suspicion lit her mind. He had long blonde hair, with two small plaits running behind his ears - were they pointed, or was Amy hallucinating? - and his face was deathly pale and drawn as he took in the whole scene. "Boromir?" he managed to gasp out, his frosty blue eyes growing very wide as he watched the rugged man examining the arrow in Sam's shoulder.

"By the Valar, Legolas, look before you shoot!" the man called Boromir roared at him. "If this maiden dies, I'll have your pointy-eared head as a trophy for my sword!" Lizzie broke free from Amy's grasp and bolted to the one Boromir had called Legolas. She slapped him open-handed on the face, hard as she could, and winced, her palm stinging. The elf, or whatever he was, rocked backwards on his heels and automatically threw up a forearm to defend himself, but Lizzie was a ball of furious energy.

"You sonofabitch, you shot her! You shot Sam! I hate you! Die, die, die!" Lizzie's keening wails were perhaps more painful to the ears than her blows were to the "elf", as her hands were rather soft and pathetic. What she lacked for in force she made up for in rapidity, because the poor elf/Legolas/whatever was almost pummeled to his feet as the blonde girl spat like an angry cat. The man who had been smoking the pipe - not the bearded one - got to his feet and lifted Lizzie bodily from the bewildered "elf". He pinned her arms behind her back and clamped a hand over her mouth. Lizzie apparently was trying to gnaw at the calloused palm of his hand, but it wasn't working. Amy was horrified and shocked, and it was too much to take in all at once. She threw up her hands, gave a weak little cry, and passed out for the first time in her life.


	3. We Are So Doomed

**A/N: Third chapter! Yayness! And thanks to Tiara D'Cullen for pointing that out. I have now gone back and edited out most of the profanity. xD Enjoy, but the T rating still stands. 'Cos that's how I roll.**

**Disclaimer: I no sell. You no sue.**

She came to suddenly and abruptly, quite unlike all of the old movies she had seen, in which the heroine gently awakens with many a fluttering eyelash and a rosy cheek. In reality, Amy woke up like someone had pinched her quite firmly on the nose, and now that she was awake the days events came flooding back to her. She resisted the urge to cry - after all, being the middle child of nine, she was made of stronger stuff! - and instead got up. The men who had found her had evidently laid her off to one side so she could rest in her own time, for she could hear low murmurs some feet away. Judging by the color of the sky, it was close to the middle of the night, and the stars were as thick and bright as a field of poppies. They formed unknown constellations and figures, and it was this more than anything else that convinced Amy she wasn't in her own world any more. She had spent a long time in her backyard with a few of her siblings studying the stars, telling about the constellations and stories that were behind them. But now, she was in a different place, with different stars. It smelled different here too; the air was sharper, cleaner somehow. _No pollutants_, Amy reminded herself. _At least not yet._ Eventually, machines and technology would overrun this world and it would be as industrialized and impersonal as her own world was. This saddened her, for the sight of such raw, majestic beauty - such as the bright stars - would eventually be dimmed by smog and pollutants. She looked down at her feet and realized someone had taken off her shoes. She crept closer to the fire and heard three voices, one deep and smooth, like a vat of chocolate, the other gruff and businesslike, the third slightly weary and cracked with age. The first voice was speaking in a slightly muffled way, as if he were speaking around a pipe. Amy realized with some surprise that this must be the roguish-looking man who had restrained Lizzie from mauling the "elf" thing.

"We cannot jeopardize our quest in any way. These women obviously have no knowledge of our world. If Lady Elizabeth is being honest with us, they come from a different world and time. How can we allow these women to come with us when they have no survival skills and cannot contribute to our journey in any way? If we fail in our quest the entirety of Middle Earth will plunge into confusion, slaughter and chaos." He sounded very tired, like this was a point he had been making all night. Evidently they had questioned Lizzie, because Liz almost never gave out her full name. She hated it, and even her parents called her Lizzie. Amy quieted her thoughts when she heard a murmur of agreement from the cracked old voice, and the gruff voice spoke up.

"And yet, we cannot leave these women alone. You've been saying so yourself, Aragorn, these ladies have no way to survive out here in the open. Not only would we risk our honor by allowing them to be abandoned out in the wilderness with Saruman's spies haunting our steps, but they would most certainly die. If they have any kin back where they come from, why, we could be hailed as murderers. It would be certain death to abandon them alone and unarmed out in a place they know naught of." His voice was gruff, with a certain brogue to it that Amy liked. He sounded like her father, in some way; a hard, serious exterior with a mellow heart of gold. His words twisted in a pleasant way when he said "open", almost as if a Scottish accent had been painted along his syllables.

"Master Gimli is correct," said the third voice, this one much more tired and slightly cracked with years. "We cannot abandon them, yet we cannot allow them to accompany us. We must compromise; if Boromir is willing, we shall bring them as close as we can to Gondor and they shall make the last leg of the journey by themselves. If they arrive bringing the Steward's son's crest, they shall have a warm welcome and a good place to stay. That is our only option, gentlemen. Our hands are bound."

Amy had to do something. So far, she knew they were talking about her friends, and two of them were named Gimli and Aragorn. She crept a little closer to the fire and stepped on a twig. Gimli, who she now discovered was the dwarf with the bushy beard, instantly reached for his axe, then relaxed when he saw who it was. Amy offered a little half smile to the men and came a little closer. Normally, she would have felt ridiculous talking in the middle of the night with three men whom she didn't even know properly, but this was by no means a normal day. She tucked her feet under her and knelt on her hands, which was a common position she assumed when she was nervous, such as now. She lifted her green eyes from the fire for a brief moment and appealed to Gimli. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping," she began. "But I can't help but overhear what you said. Um, can I just put something in? I don't mean to be rude, or anything, but, well, my friends and I are pretty much useless. It's like Mr. Gimli said, we can't survive. The only person who might make it to Gondor or wherever you want to put us would be Sam, and she's wounded. Oh, is she all right?" she asked, suddenly thinking of her friend. She must sound like an insensitive wart for not thinking of Sam earlier, but she had been so intent on listening to what they were going to do with them that it had slipped her mind completely.

Aragorn looked at the girl with something like sympathy. She seemed different from her other friends, more mature, quieter, more sensible. But she also seemed very meek and timid, whereas her injured friend was loud, brash, and obviously the leader. If Aragorn remembered correctly, her name was Amy, although he wasn't sure how accurate Lady Elizabeth had been with them. She had been glowering at Legolas the whole time, which caused the poor elf to nearly curse her out in Elvish. But the blonde prince had reined himself in and turned in early, leaving Gimli, Gandalf and Aragorn to figure out where the women would go. Turning his mind back to Amy, he studied her. Her hands were soft, and all of their clothes were of some elegant, strange material that was finely crafted. He had asked Lady Elizabeth if they had been princesses in their world, and the blonde girl had merely laughed bitterly and denied it. Studying her now, he realized that his estimation was a little off the mark. None of the women, except perhaps the blonde, were beautiful enough to be of high birth. They didn't have the nobility or the poise of princesses, especially the brunette they called Sam, and the redheaded girl was too short and plain to be a princess. Oh, they all had their charms, but compared to the fine Elvish women Aragorn had seen, they were positively dowdy.

"Lady Samantha will recover. Her injuries were quite mild, but I am sure her pain was most severe for her." This came from the long-bearded man who had also been smoking a pipe earlier. He gave a little smile to Amy and gestured with his hand. "Your, ah, _passionate_ friend Lady Elizabeth is also doing well." he said wryly. Amy also made a little face and she ducked her chin.

"Yeah. Sorry about that, but Lizzie can be kind of…impulsive." She thought for a second, then her brows drew together in a slightly severe expression. "Your friend _did_ shoot Sam. That was mean. He could have killed her!"

When Amy heard the gentle voice directly behind her she almost fell over. She had no idea how someone could sneak up that quietly and make no noise as Amy had been talking. "I am sincerely sorry for your friend's injuries, but I do think she will recover. I was merely protecting my kinsmen, and I could not see very well in the fog. You have my humblest and most sincere apologies, Lady Amy." She turned around so fast she almost cricked her neck, and saw the blonde "elf" crouching behind her. He did look very sorry, and his blue eyes were very somber. Now that she had a chance to look at him properly, she saw the tipped points of his ears had no line where the plastic peak ended and the real ear began. Her heart skipped a beat and a half when she realized he was an _actual_ elf.

"Don't…do that," she mumbled, one hand still pressed against her chest in an attempt to calm her racing heart. "How…no, wait, never mind. Are you a real elf?" she asked almost shyly. He cocked one eyebrow, but didn't seem very surprised. Evidently he got this a lot. She could have sworn one corner of his mouth flicked upwards in a brief smile, but it was gone again as soon as she blinked.

"Aye, that I am." he said. He joined Aragorn by the opposite side of the fire, and steepled his fingers as he watched the dancing flames. "I have been listening, as Lady Amy has, to your conversation. I do not like Gandalf's suggestion, and yet I do believe we have no choice. We must bring the women with us for the time being, at least until we reach a safe area where we may buy them lodging. There is no other option." There was a long silence after his speech, and then Gandalf expelled a heavy sigh.

"So be it. We shall bring the ladies with us until we reach a safe place. Lady Amy, I would ask you to return to bed at once. I would like to discuss something with Aragorn." He said it politely, but Amy had the impression that he was, as nicely as possible, telling her to butt out because they had manly things to discuss. This was a common enough happening in her household, mostly because there were five boys and four girls. Her sisters were constantly being told to get out of conversations and suchlike. So she bit back the urge to sigh and insist that she stay, and instead got up and left.

* * *

><p>Lizzie was awake and propped up on her elbow when Amy came back. "So?" she asked. Her voice was a hushed whisper, yet she still managed to contain a slight irk in that one word. Obviously she hadn't had her fill of scratching Legolas's eyes out. Amy crawled onto the sleeping roll that had been commissioned to her. It was very thin, and she could feel every pebble that was underneath her. She wouldn't be able to sleep on this, and there was nothing else to do but to talk to Lizzie, so she managed to turn over and face her blonde friend. Even now, Amy grudgingly admired her friend's looks. Somehow Lizzie managed to keep relatively clean, and she looked positively sparkling compared with Amy's dirt smeared cheeks and bloodied clothes and hands.<p>

"From what I've heard, their names are Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli," she said. "And they want to drop us off at some place called Gondor. And we're in a place called Middle Earth." She didn't expect Lizzie to react quite so dramatically as all that, but Lizzie nearly shot out of her sleeping roll and only managed to rein in her loud gasp by clapping a hand over her mouth. "What?" Amy asked irritably. "What is it? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"We're in _Middle Earth_?" Lizzie said disbelievingly. "Like, Lord of the Rings? Tolkien? Oh, my _God_! We're in Lord of the Rings! That's so _wild_!" she was quickly becoming louder, and Amy hissed at her to settle down.

"Tolkien wrote another series?" Amy asked, confused. "I read _The Hobbit_ and _The Silmarillion_. I remember hearing about it. So you've read them?" As soon as she asked it, she knew what a dumb question it was. Lizzie never read anything unless psychically forced, except for gossip magazines. The blonde rolled her eyes.

"No, duh! I watched the movies. They had Elijah Woods, Orlando Bloom, and Viggo Mortensen! _Great_ cast, and Orlando was so _hot_ in it!" Lizzie said, and Amy saw she was about to give her a blow-by-blow account of all the epic "hawtness" scenes.

"Never mind who was _in_ it, Lizzie, what _happened_?" Amy interrupted. "How did the movie go?" Lizzie made a face at Amy, who smacked herself in the forehead. "Don't tell me. You don't remember."

"It was a long time ago," Lizzie whined. "I remember _some_ stuff. There was this really hot guy who rode on a horse, and there was this evil dude who had a huge sword, and something about a ring, and elves. I remember that. Oh, and this epic scene where this lady, like, made this whole river go _kafloosh_! Knocking over a whole bunch of these, like, black knights or something. And the soundtrack was really good. I think it won an award for that, actually," Lizzie looked thoughtful. Amy looked horrified.

"You mean we're in a movie you only dimly remember? And the only parts you remember are when there was a really hot guy in it? I don't _believe_ this, Liz! We're screwed! Epically and totally screwed! You couldn't even remember the basic _plot_? Not even a little bit? For crying out _loud_!" Amy flopped back on her bedroll and stared at the glittering expanse of stars. She heard Lizzie roll over on her side, and she knew instinctively that she was pouting. Sulking, probably, with her lower lip quivering and her eyes all damp with tears. It was Lizzie's trademark Whiny-Face.

"I do remember something. There was this guy, Elijah Wood, who played some kind of midget, and he had to throw this ring or whatever into this big volcano. And he got a finger bitten off. I remember that. It was pretty nasty, actually." she said reflectively. "But don't worry. We'll just let the movie play out, and we'll be fine. _Trust _me."

Amy decided not to trust her airhead of a friend any farther than she could throw her. She closed her eyes, still seeing the beautiful stars in her minds' eye, and remembered one thought as she fell asleep. _We're doomed. We're doomed. We're doomed._


	4. Wait, Where Are We Again?

**A/N: See if you can catch the pairings in this chapter! Before you say "OMG! I SEE ONE!", let me save you a lot of trouble and say this: Sam and Boromir are NOT going to be paired together. Sam would go nuts if she fell in love with someone who was going to die, and I can't let that happen to her. Okay? But there's a couple of sentences that point to another possible pairing that I'm not sure on...Anyway, read and review!**

**Disclaimer: ... This is annoying ...**

Sam was woken abruptly the next morning, and she cracked one eyelid open to determine what unfortunate soul had woken the lioness up from her nap before it the sun had risen. Seeing no one around to pummel - and her arm was singing 'Hallelujah Chorus', so she couldn't have pummeled anyone anyway - she winced and sat up. The place where the arrowhead had buried itself in her shoulder was subsiding to a low burn after the initial flare of her stirring. She cracked her jaw and looked around through sleep-deprived eyes. After her "surgery" where the tall guy with the scruff had dug the arrowhead out of her shoulder - she had screamed obscenities for the heavens to hear for hours - the pain had lessened considerably. So she was left with an arm that had a simmering ache if she didn't move it. If she was unlucky enough to forget it, a bolt of pain would rip up her arm before she knew what was happening. She pushed herself into a sitting position with her good arm and blinked tiredly. The sky was a murky shade of soupy gray, and it looked like it would either pour rain or just drizzle. The fire which the scruffy guy had used to heat up the tip of his dagger (see: mind-blowing, unutterable pain) had burned down to low embers that were flickering and sparking in the dampness of the dewy morning. Looking around her, she realized this was the first time she had been covered so heavily in dew. Thick pearly droplets beaded every surface, and when Sam touched one of the beads and brought it to her mouth she was surprised to taste how sweet and clean it was. She was about to repeat the process when she heard something moving off to her left. Turning her head, she saw a thick tangle of untidy red hair and a lump that had somehow managed to wrap both a pillow and a blanket around herself. Slowly, the curly red hair shifted and the wrestling hold that had been inflicted upon the innocent pillow was loosened. Amy emerged, her green eyes looking very sleepy and dim. When she saw Sam, her eyes brightened considerably. After a huge, jaw-aching yawn, she scooted closer to her old friend. "Hey, Sam," she whispered, not about to wake the still-asleep Lizzie. "How do you feel? How's your arm?"

"I feel like crap," Sam admitted. "And my arm still hurts. But it's better, thanks for asking." Amy rubbed her eyes and looked down at herself ruefully. Sam voiced her opinion before Amy could. "I know, I feel really weird sleeping in my clothes like that. But it's not like we have a choice. What are they going to do with us, anyway?"

"I was actually going to say how weird it was sleeping on the ground, but yeah, that too. Oh, get this: we're in Lord of the Rings. Did you see that movie?" Amy crossed her fingers that Sam would say 'no'. She wasn't all the up-to-date about movies, and obviously Amy was more of a bookworm than a movie-watcher. Slow surprise dawned in Sam's drowsy brown eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I remember seeing the first one," she said after a minute of thought. "I watched it with my older sister. It was pretty good, actually. Nice premise." Then the full meaning of what Amy had said sunk in. "Wait, what? We're in a freakin' _movie_?" she spluttered. "How is that even possible?" Amy bit her lip and worried it for a minute before releasing it.

"I have no idea. I'm pretty sure we're dead back on Earth, though. Maybe we get sent to an alternate universe when we die." She shrugged at Sam's skeptical look. "Hey, it might happen. Anyway, I met some of the guys last night. They seem okay. There's Gandalf, he's like this old guy with a gray beard. He has these gray robes and a big stick. And then there's Gimli, who seems really nice. He's a dwarf, or maybe he's just short. I haven't asked him yet, and I don't think I'm going to. And then there's Aragorn, whose like the leader-type. The guy who dug the arrow out of your arm," she said kindly, with a look at the bandaged shoulder. "And Legolas is the Elf who shot you," she said after a minute.

"So he's the guy I have to beat up?" Sam growled. Amy stifled a laugh with her hand, her green eyes smiling as she eyed her friend. Giggling, she told Sam about how Lizzie had mauled Legolas last night. Sam looked delighted and wickedly surprised. "Lizzie did that?" she said, sounding very impressed. "I didn't know our little Barbie doll had all that fight in her."

"I'm not just a pretty face," came a very muffled, very sleepy voice from the bedroll to their left. Lizzie's blonde hair was mussed and hanging in her eyes, and she had circles underneath both of her baby blue orbs. She yawned and stretched tiredly, a languid motion that reminded Amy of a lazy cat. She blinked her blue eyes at Amy and Sam then yawned again. "What t- time is it?" she said sleepily, a yawn interrupting her sentence. "It's too e- early."

"I don't know. Probably around six o'clock." Amy said, who usually got up at this time. Her body clock was waking her up, and she got to her feet. She popped the ligaments in her back then flexed her shoulders, wincing at the stiffness. Lizzie looked horrified.

"Six _A.M_? I've never woken up that early in my life!" she said, forgetting to keep her voice down. Amy made a shushing motion with her hands and peeked over the slight hillock to see if they had awoken any of the other men. To her surprise, she was met with the man who had rescued them earlier, the man with the strawberry blonde hair and the shield. He looked rather surprised that she was awake, but he came over the hillock and knelt next to Sam.

"How do you fare, Lady Samantha?" He asked in a gentle voice. She hissed between her teeth as he began cutting off the bandages with his knife. The knife was at least six inches long, and sharp enough to slice off Sam's arm, but he wielded it gently and with great care. He peeled off the bandage lightly and inspected the wound. "It appears to be free from infection. You were lucky Legolas did not strike you higher; 'tis a rare day when a man survives an arrow to the neck."

"Oh, peachy," Sam grumbled. "That makes me feel a whole lot better." she remained quite still as he began crushing up some wilted green leaves with his knife and then pressing them into her wound. She gritted her teeth as the herbs stung, and then the pain began to fade away. "Who are you, anyway?" she had a vague idea that his name was Bo- something, but she couldn't remember the rest. After all, it had been quite a while since she had watched the movie. A little smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he tore a fresh strip of bandages free from one of his tunics and began tying it around her arm.

"My name is Boromir, son of Denethor. I hail from Gondor. Your friend, Lady Elizabeth, told me you were named Samantha." he said. She nodded, then her lips tightened as he fastened the bandage with a neat knot. "That should hold. Take care not to move it and undo the bandage, t'will reopen the wound."

"Yeah, I'll remember that. And she's not _Lady Elizabeth_, she's Lizzie. Don't call me Samantha, call me Sam." she almost added _please_ to the end, but she didn't want to seem like she was begging. He lifted one eyebrow and shook his head as he helped her stand.

"Unfortunately, there is another member of our fellowship who also goes by the name Sam. T'will be easier on my mind if I am permitted to call you Lady Samantha. Why do you dislike your name? 'Tis very pretty." he asked. Sam made a face that almost made him laugh.

"It's too girly. I'm not exactly, you know, _feminine_, so I decided to be as tomboyish as possible." Something shifted in his eyes as she said this, and he nodded once, curtly. She decided he was a sexist, and dislike for him welled up in her chest. Any man who thought women were inept should be given a swift, sharp kick to the tuchas in her book. Boromir asked her if she needed anything else, and when she declined, he went back over the hillock to wake the rest of the group. Amy had been watching the exchange and offered Sam a little smile.

"Don't worry. If we're in Medieval times, most men thought women were totally incapable of doing anything except having babies." Amy was on her hands and knees rolling up her bedroll and then tied it with the pieces of rope that had been used to lash it tightly together. She crawled over to Sam's bedroll and began rolling hers up as well, but Sam made a noise of protest. "It's okay, I want to," Amy answered. "Can you get Lizzie up? She won't get out of bed."

That was the problem with Amy, Sam decided. She was too damn domestic and easy going. She never got upset or riled about anything, except when her friends were fighting. Sam kicked Lizzie with her toe, unwilling to move her arm so she could shake her. "Hey, Barbie-doll, wake up. Time to rise and shine. Don't make me sit on you." Lizzie groaned, rolled over, and threw a hand over her eyes and heaved a huge sigh.

"It's to early to rise to anything," she moaned. "Go back to bed." Sam growled and kicked her again. Lizzie gave a little cry of theatrical anguish and called over to Amy. "Amy, dearest, she's mutilating me again!" Amy didn't look up from the bedroll she was folding up.

"Lizzie, _dearest_, you need to get up. We'll leave without you, and then think how sorry you'll be. Up, Lizzie. Now." Amy got to her feet and heaved both bedrolls over her back. Lizzie reluctantly got up and scrubbed a hand across her eyes, pushing her silky blonde hair out of the way. Amy raised her eyebrows at her friend, who seemed to be more interested in picking twigs out of her hair then rolling her bedroll up, so Amy sighed and dropped to her knees. She struggled with the bedroll for a minute then tucked it among the other two, getting to her feet again. "Both of you, go over the hill and ask one of the guys where we can wash up."

"Why don't you go?" Sam asked. Amy looked at the shaggy-haired brunette like she was crazy, her dark green eyes wide as dinnerplates.

"Are you serious? Me, going up to complete strangers and asking them where I can pee and wash my hands? No, thanks!" Amy said. Sam considered this. True, this was very unlike Amy. Neither of them noticed Lizzie going over the hill to ask one of the Fellowship where they could wash up. When they finally did notice, they scrambled over the hillock to see where she had went.

* * *

><p>Legolas watched, amused, as the blonde who has assaulted him yesterday marched over the hill. She was the prettiest of the three, he decided, but there was an undeniably fake, backstabbing quality to her that made him wary. Her curves were downright distracting, but she was too willowy and slim for his tastes. However, he did notice Boromir glancing at her like she was a plate of beef in front of a starving man. He suppressed a smile as the blonde went directly to Gandalf and cocked her head to the side. She flipped a stand of blonde hair over her shoulder and flashed him a winning smile. "Hey, do you guys know someplace where we can wash up? We feel <em>disgusting<em> from sleeping on the ground all night in our clothes." she said airily. Legolas felt the urge to roar with laughter bubble up in his chest, and he forced it down with a visible effort. These women were certainly soft and spoiled, he thought, to be so uncomfortable after only one clear night! It would be vile to listen to the blonde's complaints after they camped out in the rain.

"There is a stream over yonder," Aragorn spoke up. "It will take care of your needs. Take care your friend does not wet her bandage; it will heal quicker if it is kept dry." Lizzie beamed at him.

"Oh, she's not as dumb as she looks," Lizzie assured him. "But I'll tell her anyway."

"Backstabbing little jerk," came an annoyed voice from over the hill. "Not as dumb as I look? What do I look like, Bozo the Clown?" Sam was pressing her arm to her side tightly and glaring at Lizzie, Amy standing next to her looking very shy. Already two coals of a blush were heating her cheeks, and she wouldn't look at any of the Fellowship members. Legolas once again forced back a smile. She was a pretty little thing, in her own way, with a short stature and a rather plump figure. She tapped Sam on the arm warningly, but Lizzie wasn't finished yet. The blonde raised one eyebrow.

"No, not like a clown, Amy has that corner covered," Lizzie said, eyeing Amy's wild red curls. The girl, instead of defending herself, merely let her shoulder drop and she tugged halfheartedly at the thick mass of red hair. "But you _do_ like white trash," Lizzie said. "Wearing all the black is just asking for someone to leap on you and ask you if you're emo." None of the Fellowship members could fathom her critical statements, but it must have been something bad because Sam turned white with anger and began spluttering mingled curses and insults as Amy led her away. The redhead spared one last glance behind her at Legolas, and for the first time the elven prince noticed the color of her eyes. The exact color, Legolas decided, of new leaves coming out in the spring.

* * *

><p>The brook that the three girls crouched by was icily cold and very clear. It burbled cheerfully around mossy boulders, willow branches trailing fingers into the clear depths as though they wanted to immerse themselves in it. Combined with the sandy bottom, the moss carpeting the banks, and the fog that was already rising over the land, Amy thought it looked exactly like a place in a fairy tale. The water that she splashed on herself woke her up far more efficiently than Lizzie's tongue lashing, and she dunked her face again and again into the cold water. She blocked out the insults and barbed words that both Lizzie and Sam were hurling at each other and scolded them after it died down. They had to stick together, she coached them in her best "Mom" voice. "We're in a strange place. The only people we can trust here is the three of us, okay? So don't fight, guys. We need to stick together."<p>

"But she started it -" Sam began, and then shut up at the withering look Amy gave her. Tactfully, both she and Lizzie silently elected not to say another word the rest of the day.


	5. What A Terrible Day For Walking

**A/N: Fifth chapter! Cookie to all reviewers! (::)**

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, Eomer would get WAY more screen time. So would Legolas. So there. **

Walking. Walking. And. More. Damned. Walking!

Lizzie had never walked so far in her entire life. She felt sticky and hot and tired, the muggy air of Middle Earth causing her shirt to cling to her. The fog that had surrounded them earlier was burning off but leaving a damp remnant in the air that made her blonde hair plaster itself to her forehead in cords. She staggered up another rolling hill - the whole countryside was full of little lumps that were too small to be mountains but too large to be hills - and she used her knee to push off with her hands. The hill was almost vertical, it was that steep. All right, maybe not vertical. But it was _high_, in Lizzie's opinion. She glanced grumpily to her left, where Sam was having a bad time of it. Her face was very pale and sweaty, and her bottom lip hadn't left her mouth in over fifteen minutes. Obviously she was trying not to wimp out and begin moaning about her wounded arm. Borogorn, - or whatever his name was, Lizzie couldn't remember properly - had fashioned a sort of sling for her so her arm would stay still. This, naturally, elicited a fresh round of gritted teeth and a few muffled screams. Now Sam had her good fingers dug into the mane of the little pony who was lumbering along at the rear of the procession. The pony - his name was Bill, she thought she heard one of the children (Or were they midgets? They had awfully mature faces) calling him - was the only cute thing about this journey. Lizzie felt a little surge of meanness when she saw Sam wipe her forehead again. She must be sweating like a pig in all that black. Serves her right for dressing like white trash. To her right was Amy, looking like she was about to fall over. The redhead was wincing with every step, and her hair had clumped together in a mass at the nape of her neck. No doubt Amy would be bawling about it later that night when she tried to comb it out with her fingers.

She could feel the dull, aching throb of blisters scattered on the landscape of her soft, formerly-perfectly-moisturized feet. She hated this adventure, hated everything about it except the amazing supply of hunky hot guys. Especially that Elf. Damn, he was smoking. He didn't seem the least bit tired, either, and he trotted lightly atop the long grass easily, his butterscotch colored boots making no noise on the shin-high grass. But he had shot Sam, and for that, he was on her 'grudge list'. At least for a good solid week. Lizzie could never keep anyone on the grudge list for long, unless they had done something really awful, like used her hairspray without her permission or borrowed her eyeliner without asking. Both of which Lizzie would have readily throttled somebody for a sample sized version of each cosmetic item. She hated adventures, especially adventures that included walking with a bunch of primitive-looking - albeit handsome - men who kept looking at her like she was about to grow three heads. Lizzie pushed herself up the side of another hill. All of these hills were getting on her nerves. Everything was getting on her nerves.

Amy, who was walking a slight distance away from Lizzie, saw the angry look on her face and elected to keep her distance. The redhead was aching all over; even her arms were aching from swinging them. She chanced a look over at Sam, who looked in even worse shape. The shaggy-haired brunette was ashen pale, and there were two dark marks where her teeth had dug into her bottom lip. There wasn't anything she could do about it - Sam would probably grouch at her if she offered to help her in some way, and Amy would rather die then go and ask one of the leaders for a break. The only person she felt comfortable with - well, as comfortable as uptight Amy ever felt - was that small, stocky dwarf, who looked like he had a nice laugh. He looked just about as tired as Amy, and he was using his axe as a walking stick and breathing hard. Amy maneuvered her way over to him and fell in step next to him. For a long while, they said nothing, with Gimli sneaking looks at the short redhead, who kept sneaking looks back at him. She wanted to ask if he was a dwarf, but she couldn't think of a polite way to ask this. She couldn't exactly say _Hey, are you a dwarf or just a really, really, short guy?_ so she kept her mouth shut. She had always been horrible at ice breaking. Finally, Gimli decided to say something to put the girl out of her misery. "Hot day, isn't it?" he grunted. He had a thick brogue that twisted his words, and Amy liked it. She felt a little more relaxed, and decided to nod. Nodding was safe. She did so, and then burst out, all at once:

"Are you a dwarf?"

He looked at her and laugh, a deep, rich chuckle. "Aye, lass, I am. What's it to yeh?" he said gruffly. He liked her; she reminded him of a little child who was speaking to an elder. But she didn't hold her tongue out of respect; she held it out of fear. She shot him another glance, and then said, just as quickly as before:

"What are dwarves like?"

It turned out to be the perfect thing to ask him. Gimli launched into a long, windy speech about the history and language of dwarves, which Amy found fascinating. He told her about the gold and jewels that the dwarves had mined for when they came to Middle Earth, and he described them with such loving detail that Amy could almost feel the silky gold coins beneath her fingers. When he told her of the huge halls and mighty pillars of Moria, she could practically see the huge columns that stretched away to the sky. He told her about the royalty of dwarves, and his chest was thrown out to an almost painful length when he proudly told her that he, Gimli, son of Gloin, was related to one of them. Amy was duly impressed by all of it, and she peppered him with questions, her bashfulness forgotten. He told her about courtship rights, battles, wars, and told her of the mighty creatures they had slain. Her eyes widened when he told her of the great sieges he had withstood and inflicted upon others, and her heart quickened when he reminisced about the old kings who inscribed their laws and ordinances on ancient stone tablets that most dwarves still followed today. Both of their aching bodies were forgotten as they were completely enthralled with the world of dwarves. For a moment no longer than a heartbeat, Amy wondered what it would be like to be a dwarf. She was almost short enough, but she decided against it. But Gimli managed to ingrain in her a deep, insatiable desire to see the relics of the dwarves. She was so deeply involved with her own imagination and Gimli's thick brogue that she almost didn't hear Legolas's derisive snort in front of them.

Almost, but not quite.

"And may I ask the elvish princling what is so amusing to him?" Gimli boomed in his gruff baritone. Legolas kept his eyes straight ahead, but Amy could see that the light blue cerulean orbs had gone dark in a mixture of amusement and superiority. He half turned moving his head only a fraction as he answered Gimli.

"I find it very amusing that you see no fault in the dwarves, only in the elves." he said. Amy noted his voice had gone very cold. "If my memory serves me correctly, you dug too deep and plumbed the bowels of mountains that should have remained untapped. You woke things that should remain sleeping, and it was up to the _elves_ to get you out of it." Legolas said. Gimli's chest swelled with annoyance as he literally bristled with anger, his beard twitching with infuriation. He was about to bark out an angry retort when Gandalf stepped between them smoothly.

"I think we shall stop for the afternoon," he said, pausing. "My old bones are not as strong as they used to be, and I think the ladies would also benefit from a rest." He glanced back at Sam, who by now was looking very white and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her lips, which had always been of a healthy pink color, were now vividly red against the chalkiness of her cheeks. Amy hurried over to her friend and helped her sit down on the marshy grass, and then checked her bandage worriedly. Sam had done her best to keep still, but she had managed to tear off a small corner of the scab which was knitting her skin back together and the blood had begun to seep into the bandage.

Legolas watched as Amy fussed over her friend. She worried too much, that was clear, but she was more seemly and domestic, more sensible and less prone to flashes of anger like her friends. But coupled with that, she was terrified of starting a conversation with anyone, including Gandalf, which was a surprise; most people liked the old man. He watched her hands shake when she peeled back a little bit of the bandage, and saw a little of the red color fade from her cheeks when confronted with blood. Clearly, this was not a woman who was accustomed to war and bloodshed. Anger suddenly flared in him; these girls were innocent, especially Amy, and they should not be on a quest that would potentially end in death. Lizzie, in her shallow, flippant ways, was still young, and Sam, despite her macho exterior and sarcastic interior, was still a long ways away from a woman. And Amy, little Amy, the baby of the group, was now trying to cut around the scabbed blood with a small knife she had in her pocket, wincing when Sam winced, pursing her lips when Sam arched her back in pain. He closed the distance between them in a single bound and knelt next to them, taking the knife from Amy's hands. The redhead looked up, startled, as the knife flew out of her hands. She blushed furiously when she saw it was Legolas, but he had a very queer look on his face, something akin to anger. Instantly she hearkened back to the time she had spent talking to Gimli, and now realized that practically everything the dwarf said had been insulting elves in some way, trying to get a rise out of Legolas. Was he angry at her for talking with him? More color heated her cheeks, and if there was a drop of blood elsewhere in her body she would have been surprised.

He carefully cut away the bandage and examined the wound. It was clear and dark, with no signs on infection. Boromir had tended to the wound neatly and well, taking good care of the young woman. Sam was glaring at him with that peculiar glower that only suffering men have as they glare at their surgeon. She knew he was going to soothe the pain, but she was still _in_ pain, and the pain wouldn't abate until the altheas had gotten to work. He crushed a fresh bit of altheas leaves against the skin and bound it tightly with another strip of cloth from Boromir's now-tattered spare tunic. He glanced at Amy and saw she was flushing furiously, and edging away from him. He wondered why she was always to nervous around him; and yet it was a refreshing change from the other elleths who had preened and postured for his attention. "Keep that still," he commanded Sam. "Don't move. Lady Amy and Lady Elizabeth will fetch you from victuals shortly." Sam gave a tight nod as she clenched her teeth, waiting for the altheas leaves to dull the pain.

Samwise was frying up some sausage and fresh rabbit meat that Aragorn had caught, when he saw Lizzie sit down with a heavy groan near the fire. She swore several times under her breath as she tugged off her strange looking shoes and peeled off her socks. Five angry blisters were throbbing on her foot, and Lizzie poked at one of them gingerly. Amy sat down next to her and whistled at the savage looking blisters. "Ouch," she said. Lizzie hissed in pain as Amy's fingers skated over the blisters gently.

"Quit it," Lizzie snapped. "Oh, my _feet_!" she complained loudly as Amy began working on her blisters. Each one had to be lanced with the tip of Amy's pocket knife which Sam had given her for her birthday, which wasn't exactly a sterile tool. Yellowish pus welled up after each jab, and Lizzie degenerated to wails as Amy sliced the blisters. When the keening became too much to handle on human ears, let alone elvish ones, Legolas had to stalk away from the campfire. His hyper-sensitive ears were buzzing loudly, and eventually Lizzie got the hint as the pain subsided. She sniffled but stayed near the fire, deigning to thank Amy in a positively superior way. Amy sighed and moved away from the fire, accepting the supercilious thank you without a word. That was just the way Lizzie was.

* * *

><p>Legolas was on guard duty that evening, and he settled himself against a boulder as he watched carefully. Sometimes he could sneak a nap, mostly because his ears were so keen that he could hear an enemy a long was off, and also because he slept with his eyes open. But tonight was too brisk and beautiful to fall asleep; a stiff breeze, a bite of winter in the air, brought a bit of color to his cheeks as he guarded his slumbering companions. The stars overhead were beautiful and mysterious, wisely twinkling down on him in a strange, alien way. Mentally he counted the constellations that he knew, trying to remember the stories that were attached to them. Just as he was digging an old fable from the depths of his memories, he heard a twig snap and a few bushes rustle some ways away. Instantly he was on his feet. It might be a rabbit, and it might be a spy. Slowly, he notched an arrow to his bow as he aimed it at the bushes, then remembered Sam and her friends. He spared a glance at the three bedrolls which Aragorn, Boromir and himself had sacrificed for the three girls. One of them was rumpled and empty. He eased the arrow back into his quiver and waited for the rustling noise to come again. This time, when the bushes stirred, a mop of red curls emerged along with it.<p>

She had a drowsy, sleep-deprived look on her face, and she seemed quite unaware of Legolas watching her. Rubbing her eyes she looked at her sleeping friends fondly, then went over to a tussock of grass to sit and watch the stars. She sat cross-legged on the tussock and closed her eyes. She couldn't sleep, not surprisingly, since her mind was too full of the activities of the day to even consider falling asleep. Her fingers were weaving a few long stalks of grass together automatically; this was a thing she did back home to relax herself. When she had a long strand of neatly plaited grass she folded it and crimped it into a tight round ball. It was lopsided, but it didn't matter. She was bored, mostly because she was sleepy, but her mind was running in circles. Then a hand closed over her mouth and she sucked in a breath. What was happening? She felt a very quiet voice, and exotic accent that she couldn't quite grasp skimming over his words lightly speak in her ear. "'Tis only me, Lady Amy." The blonde elf took a seat next to her, stretching out his long legs next to hers. "Someone is up late," he teased.

"Yes, and it's not me," Amy whispered back. "Sam snores too loudly. I couldn't even close my eyes." She fumbled with the grass ball for a moment, and then scrapped up her courage. She didn't have much courage, she knew that, but she needed at least a little bit of it. "I'm sorry if I offended you today. I wasn't really listening to what Gimli was implying - it just sounded too nice. I get kind of obsessed with cultures and stuff, so what he was saying was really interesting. He said a few things that probably made you mad, huh?"

"The dwarf did insult my race many times, but the make of a good elf is how he keeps his temper. Elves pride ourselves on our composure, our serenity. I have been provoked far more greatly than what Master Gimli spoke of today, and I am able to keep my temper under check for the most part. It is Men who chafe be greater, if you must know the truth. I despise the way they are destroying this world, this marvelous place of which we are stewards of." Legolas said, his eyes on the stars. Amy replied, sounding sad.

"I know. It's worse in our world. You can't even see the stars anymore, I mean, not like this. There are hardly any forests and all of our rivers and oceans are polluted. We're digging in places for oil and stuff that we should be digging, and people are getting hurt by it. This place is the cleanest world I've ever seen." She looked at him, watched his sharp, clean profile, his pulled-back blonde hair, his alert stance. She noticed he had not relaxed since she had been talking to him. Even though they were having a conversation, he was still on guard. "You seem to like Aragorn though," she added.

"Estel is…different. He was raised by the elves. He knows of our ways, our cultures, our languages. He will be a good king. I would be proud to be his servant." Legolas said. He saw Amy's surprise and allow a small smile to quirk one side of his mouth. "Yes, Aragorn is heir to the throne of Gondor. Once this thrice-cursed war is ended, he will be the rightful king over Middle Earth."

"Wow," Amy said softly. "I didn't know that." She waited for a minute, feeling sleepy all of a sudden, and then got up. "I'm going to bed. I'll let you get back to your guard duty." She left, and he watched her go. She needed a confidante, and a friend. Legolas was almost certain it would not be a chore to supply both.


	6. Sam Is Nasty When She's Angry

**A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. Don't really like how it came out. Anyway, leave a review and tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: ... Ugh ... **

Amy liked routine. She liked having things scheduled, all in order, in note cards or in color-coded boxes. She wasn't exactly a control freak, but everything was easier when you knew what to do day after day, even though it would get a little boring. However, traveling in a fictional story with fantasy characters with your two best friends, talking all day with dwarves and elves did _not_ get boring. Neither did their schedule, mostly because they did nothing but walk all day. Eventually, Lizzie quit griping about sleeping on the ground, stopped whining about the thin, watery stew that was usually incorporated with racy rabbit, and toned down her wheedling to stop for lunch in the middle of the day. Sam formed a quick friendship with both the hobbits and Aragorn, for reasons Amy still couldn't quite fathom. Aragorn didn't talk much, but once or twice Amy could have sworn she had seen him smile over one of the wisecracks Sam snapped at Boromir. Amy's friends totaled two, Gimli and Legolas, and it didn't take her long to find out that Sam and Lizzie were the mild equivalent to the fiery dwarf and the cool-tempered elf. And they didn't just clash with a bang and a crash, they clashed with the force of a mach-seven atom bomb when they really got going. All of Legolas's cool composure sizzled to a crumpled heap when Gimli made a few personal jabs, such as insulting Legolas's father, Thranduil. Legolas had retorted back a snappish remark about Gimli's mother that would be unrepeatable, and Aragorn was forced to take Legolas aside and berate him in Elvish. Legolas emerged five minutes later, very red-faced and he offered a stiff apology to the dwarf, who grudgingly accepted it. But aside from Legolas and Gimli's constant bickering, Sam's constant wisecracks, and Lizzie's _constant_ flirting with Aragorn and Boromir, Amy was almost content. Things had settled into a routine. As long as there was monotony, there was safety. Although she still preferred sleeping in a nice, warm bed with a long, hot shower afterwards, she almost got used to the rocky ground, the icy sponge baths that were hastily grabbed in the dewy hours of the morning. She learned quickly to tune out Sam, Lizzie, Legolas and Gimli's arguments and soon developed a habit of walking by herself off to the side. The scenery was beautiful, jagged black mountain peaks clawing at the foggy gray sky that still had a frosty touch of winter in the air. The rolling hillocks became sort of soothing, and Amy found herself missing it when the ground began to slope steeply upwards in one continuous hill.

She was _almost _content.

But the fact still remained that she was a foreigner in a strange lands, as out of place as a rose in a snow bank. Lizzie was continuously trying to explain their world to the Fellowship, but everybody merely raised their eyebrows and furrowed their brows. Trying to explain iPods and cars to people whose greatest invention was the wagon would be like trying to explain algebra to three year olds. Amy missed getting up in the morning and reading her romance novels, and she missed her window seat where she would write on her laptop. She missed the Ricker's fluffy Persian cat, Mr. Sparkles, and their shaggy black mutt, Lucifer. When Amy really came down to it, at the very core of things, she was homesick. She missed the bitter, tangy smell of the urban city where she would go on the weekends with her mother so they could go shopping, she missed the twittering birds in the morning when she woke up in the outskirts of New York City on a three acre lot. In fact, the only thing which comforted her about her new life was that things were folding into a routine, and the routine was so boring and edging on depressing that Amy was able to get lost in it. She pushed back her feelings in the morning, when chubby little Samwise fried up sausages and onions, swallowed her heartsickness during the day when she listened to them discuss strategies in low murmurs, and choked back the lump that lodged in her throat whenever Lizzie mentioned home. One three occasions she had buried her head in her blanket and cried for a few minutes, just aching all over as she longed for her old home. She had tried to be as quiet as possible - she hated to be pitied - but she had a sneaking suspicion Legolas had heard her. There could be no other accounting for his sudden turn in personality. He was doing all sorts of nice things with her, such as telling stories about elves and singing a few upbeat songs in Elvish. The language was hauntingly beautiful, silvery and sweet, like a gently rippling brook tumbling around smooth, mossy rocks. Just listening to him speak in Elvish was like hearing a song, but when he actually accompanied a melody to it, it nearly broke her heart.

On one rare occasion, Gandalf allowed the Fellowship to pause during midday, on account of Sam's arm. The shaggy-haired brunette was healing nicely, but if she pushed too long and too hard she would break out in a fever and they would lost much precious time. While Aragorn broke camp and began rationing out a few chunks of black bread - which was traveling bread that needed to be soaked to be even moderately chewable - Amy noticed Lizzie giggling over something with Boromir. Their flirting had escalated to something very serious, and Amy made a mental note to keep a closer eye on them in the future. Lizzie was pretty and such a bimbo that she probably didn't realize the effect she was having on the blonde Gondorian. As men went, the young Steward was rather ruggedly handsome, but not exactly Amy's type. Lizzie, on the other hand, appeared to have no problem with dealing him playful little nudges and pats on the shoulder when he teased her. Amy was so busy thinking about what would happen if Lizzie and Boromir fell in love that she didn't hear Sam calling to her until Lizzie shouted her name directly in her ear. "_Amy_!"

"Ouch! What?" Amy said, and muffled a shriek as she toppled off the gray boulder she had been resting on. "Jeez, Lizzie, don't do that! I was thinking!" Amy rubbed her ears and shot a very nasty look at the air headed blonde, who merely flashed her the best supermodel smile she had ever seen.

"Don't blame me. Sam's the one who wanted to get your attention," Lizzie chirped. "What _did_ you want, Sam? Tips on how to comb out your hair with only one arm?" Lizzie raked her blue eyes down Sam's shaggy brown hair, and the brunette scowled deeply at her and flipped her the bird. Amy shot up a quick, grateful missive to whatever deity was listening that the Fellowship had no idea what Sam had just done.

"If I need hairstyling tips, Liz, I will _not_ ask Amy, who happens to have the school award for the worst hairstyle in the history of Harbor High." Sam snapped. Then she glanced over at Amy and offered an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Amy. It's just, you know, red curls are meant to be smooth. Not… well, you know." Amy groaned and tried unsuccessfully to run her fingers through her thick red mane. With only Gimli's beard comb to brush her hair, her red curls had become a snarled clump of bushy, fiery hair.

"Oh, forget it," Amy sighed. "I give up on my hair. I should just cut it all off. It's too nasty and tangled for me to even _try_ and brush it all out. What did you want anyway, Sam?" Amy sat up and looked at the brunette, who raised her eyebrows and looked at her expectantly.

"Remember? You promised to ask Legolas and Aragorn -" Sam got no further before Amy waved her off, fighting back butterflies. She remembered now. Two days ago Sam had politely - or as politely as Sam got, which was basically a shove and a threat - told her to ask Legolas and Aragorn to teach them how to fight. Sam knew how to knife fight, which was very different from the mock spars Merry, Pippin and Boromir completed every evening. Watching them duel had implanted in her an insatiable desire to learn how to fight, so she had naturally asked Amy about it. When then shy redhead sheepishly admitted that she had a phobia of blood and the idea of swinging a sword was not appealing, Sam began needling her for days. Lizzie was usually too busy cooing over something with Boromir to be of any assistance, and Sam said she didn't feel right asking Legolas about it, so it was up to Amy. However, when Amy pointed out that Sam's arm was still in a sling, the brunette scowled and insisted that Amy, the meek and humble, needed to learn how to fight.

And she was absolutely terrified.

But going against Sam's wishes was not something she wanted to do. The trashy brunette would probably give her the cold shoulder for days, and then snap some rude comment at her. Of the three girls, Sam was the best at dealing wounding blows with words. So Amy got up reluctantly and went over to Legolas, who was crouching by the fire talking to Gandalf. At her approach, he got to his feet lightly and examined her. She wore a determined, pinched look on her face that was rather unsettling, and he raised one eyebrow. "May I be of assistance, Lady Amy?" he asked. Despite her best efforts, Amy still had not yet managed to get him to call her Amy. She shifted nervously and rubbed one leg with her foot, tugging her earlobe simultaneously.

"Um, yeah, we, I mean, I, was wondering … well, it was Sam, really, but, you know, um …" Amy folded her arms tightly across her chest and crossed her legs, willing herself the courage to spit out her request. Why was it that the blonde elf made her go so stuttery and wobbly? "Well, Sam and I, mostly Sam, you know, saw Boromir and the Hobbits fighting, and, uh, she wants to learn how." the last sentence was said so quietly Legolas wouldn't have caught it had he not been an elf. He raised both his eyebrows, then glanced at Sam, giving her a Are-You-Serious look.

"There is no need for you to learn how to fight," Legolas said slowly. "When we get to Gondor, you will stay there in the court. Additionally, it is quite difficult to learn even the rudiments of sparring." he said. Sam got to her feet and almost said something, but Amy, relieved beyond her wildest dreams, pulled her back down.

"Okay, thanks a lot! We won't bother you anymore - Sam, _sit down_, - thanks for all your trouble!" Amy said, then sat down hard on the boulder with Sam. The brunette was glaring at her. "What? I asked him and he said no. Enough is enough. We'll go to Gondor and we'll stay there, okay? We don't _need_ to learn how."

Sam said nothing, but the sizzling glare she offered said it all.

09

Legolas was perched on a boulder, watching the downy gray skies. Something was stirring in the air, an evil was approaching. He could feel it tingling through his system, his bones quivering as he felt some electric current waft through the brisk winds. But he couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't tell exactly what it was. He knew that Aragorn would most likely scoff and tell him he was being paranoid, so he sat on his rock and kept his mouth shut. To distract himself from the hair on the back of his neck prickling, he looked at th girls and entertained himself by watching them interact. Amy was discussing something in a low voice with Sam, who was pointedly ignoring her. Legolas hid a smile. He knew why Sam wanted to learn how to fight. She was a hero, a woman who couldn't stand being defenseless and weak, who always wanted to be on top. The very fact that her arm was hampered was annoying enough, but having to rely on strangers to protect her would be the ultimate blow to Sam's dense pride. He hoped that the fight wouldn't last long. It wouldn't hurt if he taught a bit of swordplay to the feisty girl, and he resolved to teach her as soon as her arm was better. If only for Amy's sake. Not for the first time, he wondered what he saw in the girl. She was submissive, meek, quiet, domestic, sensible, and in every way _not_ the kind of woman he would ever think of befriending.

The tingling sensation increased, and he turned towards the papery gray skies. There was a sudden stirring in the wind, an increase in the stiff breeze, and he saw the fuzzy black shapes of birds approaching rapidly. His heartbeat doubled as he realized with a shock what they were. "Crebain! Crebain from Dunland!" he cried as he leapt off the rock. The Fellowship sprang into action; Samwise doused the flames with the pot of water he had been boiling, Gandalf gathered up their packs, Merry and Pippin led Bill the Pony off into the bushes, and the rest of them began scrambling around to find a place to hide. All, minus the girls. Boromir had pulled Lizzie off into one of the scrub where the two of them were hiding, and Aragorn was wedging himself underneath a rock when Sam dashed over. The two of them hid underneath the rock ledge, and now the only one out in the open was Amy, who was looking completely bewildered and on the verge of hysteria or tears, or perhaps both. As she raced around, looking for a place to hide, she could hear the screams of the birds as they approached. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, she was so scared. And why was she so scared, she wondered; it must have been the Fellowship's reaction to the birds. Something shot out and snatched her ankle, toppling her to the ground and dragging her forcibly underneath a slight overhang. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt a hand clamp down on her mouth. She had been shoved literally into a spooning formation with some person whom she didn't know. One leg was thrown over both of hers in an effort to keep her completely still, and one hand was over her mouth while the other arm was tight against her waist. Unwillingly the tears spilled onto her cheeks as her scraped and bloodied hands and shins began throbbing painfully.

Later, when Legolas's memories of Amy were precious pearls to be savored in the back of his mind, he would try and remember what it felt like to be holding her that closely, that intimately. It was a completely innocent gesture at the time, but he would lie awake at night and try to feel once more the gentle curve of her hip against his forearm, the softness of her skin against his hands. But at that particular moment in time, all he could think of was if the Crebain had seen her, and if their whole quest had been ruined by a naïve girl from a distant land. He waited, every muscle on red alert as he heard the flapping and cawing of the birds wheeling and screaming overhead, waited for what seemed like forever but in reality was a mere minute or two, waited until there was a deafening silence ruling the land of Middle Earth. Slowly, he eased the pressure on her body and Amy scrambled out of his arms as quickly as a mouse down a hole. She unearthed herself from the overhand and bent double at the waist, gasping for breath and trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. Her palms left bloody smears on her face as she scuffed away the dampness hastily, unconsciously painting her in some barbaric light. Her shins and knees were still oozing droplets of blood from a few nasty scraps against the rocks and dirt, and she gingerly touched them with her battered hands. She heard Legolas come up behind her and she tensed. What had he been thinking as he held her that tightly? She was mortified, but he didn't appear to have any emotion at all on his face. His mechanical inquire about her bloodied hands and knees was mechanical, forced, tight and frosty. As soon as he had determined that she wasn't seriously injured, he made a beeline over to Gandalf and Aragorn who were already huddled together talking in low whispers. "Do you think they saw us?" he asked in a low voice. Aragorn looked at him and shook his head.

"'Tis too dangerous to take this route," Gandalf said wearily. "We shall have to bundle up warm and take the path of Cadrahas. 'Tis our only option." he said. Legolas frowned and looked at Aragorn.

"We cannot drop the women off at Gondor if we take the path of Cadrahas. They shall have to travel with us, and they are ill prepared to make a mountain journey. They are completely innocent of how cold it will be in the regions of Cadrahas; dressed as they are now they shall surely freeze." Legolas said.

"There is nothing we can do," Aragorn said grimly. "They will have to accompany us on our quest, at least until we reach a safe haven where they may stay. As for now, they shall have to bear the cold. When the temperature becomes too extreme, we shall lend them our cloaks." Aragorn turned as if to go, then glanced at Legolas and Boromir, who had just come up. "And we shall have to teach them how to fight."


	7. Ooh, the Yummy Ring Of Ultimate Doom

**A/N: Plot development! And hopefully you shall realize why I hate Lizzie so much! No dialog in this chapter, so sorry to all of you skimmers. XD you'll just have to read it now, won't you? Oh, and REVIEW! I love to hear about what you guys think of the development of the chapters. Tell me if there's a special scene or a trait that you want to see in any of the girls. :D Enjoy, Adoring Readers!**

**Disclaimer: Don't Own Nutin. **

Everything, everywhere was snowy white and bitterly cold. Frosty winds whipped around the twelve members of the Fellowship, cutting cruelly into any inch of unprotected skin. Icy daggers sliced into Sam's cheeks; when she rubbed her eyes, pink smears came away on her fingertips. The ice was literally making her bleed. Her teeth were chattering loudly, and she tried to lock her jaw so as not to show her weakness, but it was no use. She had never felt this cold before in her life. What wasn't numb was becoming dangerously warm, such as the tips of her toes. The only parts of her that were actually cold were her fingertips, which were jammed beneath her arms. Her whole body was shivering noisily as she staggered behind them, clinging desperately to Bill the Pony. Ahead of her, she saw a glimpse of Amy's flaming red hair and saw her collapse in the snow, sinking up to her waist in a snowdrift. Gimli knelt down and pulled her back up, helping her climb back to her feet. Amy's lips were blue and her face was shockingly white and deathly pale. Sam supposed she must look the same way, but at the moment she could not think of how she must look, because her brain was frozen. Sluggishly they inched along, and she was thought she was about to give up and sag to the ground when she saw Aragorn doubling back for her. On his back was Merry, who seemed in a state of half-consciousness. Without saying anything - the howling winds would have whipped away his words before they reached Sam's ears - he shrugged himself out of his outer cloak. Sam knew he would be terrifyingly cold before a minute was through, but she accepted it gratefully. The thick, warm oilskin cloak swallowed her completely, covering her from chin to ankle, and when she donned the hood, some of the sharp winds were deflected. She saw him slump forward, trying to hide the pocket of warm air he had so jealously stored as he trudged up the mountainside. Sam's brain was too cold to even think of how grateful she was, or how shameful she felt by taking his cloak. But eventually, she didn't care; the cloak was keeping her alive, if only for now.

Lizzie stumbled for yet the fifth time, crying out weakly as she tumbled into the snow. She coughed up icy particles as she tried to pull herself from the drift with painstakingly slow progress, until she felt a pair of strong arms yank her upwards. She was pulled protectively against a broad, muscular chest, and she inhaled the heady aroma of the masculine musk which she always associated with Boromir. His cloak was thrown tightly around the two of them, and the went forward, Lizzie completely and thoroughly unaware of the effect she was having on him. He had never seen such a dainty feminine creature such as herself, and even her casually flippant gestures were driving him wild. She heard the steady beat of his heart in his broad chest and she snuggled against him. Had he not already been struggling so much with the drifts, she would have made him carry her. Her blonde hair had been tucked into her shirt in an attempt to keep it untangled, but it half of it had fallen out in the heavy, piercing winds. She buried her cold face in his collar and tried to fight back the waves of nausea that were rapidly swelling in her stomach. It took her a few minutes to realize that Boromir had stopped, and when she did look up she felt something move. A vibrating sensation was thrumming somewhere close, and she could feel the mountain literally tremble beneath her feet as they held each other tightly. Dimly she heard Legolas roaring something about a fell voice in the air, but she was too tired and sleepy to pay any attention to it. Then there was a rushing, booming noise as something very similar to lightning cracked through the air.

Half of the mountain collapsed on top of them, showering them with a deluge of snow, packed ice, and rock. Amy felt herself being pummeled by frosty snow, and she was laid flat out against the hard-packed ground as the mountain fell upon the Fellowship. She felt as though she were underwater, and she remembered trying to claw her way to the surface. But everything was suddenly warm and she was _so _sleepy. It would be really wise, she decided, to take a quick nap. Just a short one, to rest up before they trudged on. Even if her brain had realized that this was the first onset of hypothermia, she wouldn't have cared. Everything was too warm and comforting… rather like a soft, downy blanket. Instead of tearing her way to the surface, her limbs slowed and she stopped fighting the waves of exhaustion. Walking all day in the wind and snow had worn her out, and this was the perfect … place … for a nice, long … nap. She felt someone pull her arm roughly, felt nails dig into her skin as she was forcibly yanked upwards. The brief flash of momentary pain as she was pulled agonizingly slowly from the snowdrift melted as she was slapped into a drowsy state of consciousness. She saw Legolas's face above her, saw those sparkling blue eyes … damn, he had nice eyes … but his voice was abnormally slow and thick, although he were speaking to her through several large mattresses, or a well filled with chocolate pudding. Then the sensation of deeper pain, harsher and more bright this time, located in the vicinity of her knee. She arched her back and her eyelashes, almost frosted together, snapped open as her chest ballooned with air. Legolas helped her stand, and she realized he had nearly bruised her kneecap as he tried to wake her.

Lizzie was one of the first atop the snowdrift, mostly because Boromir had propelled her to the surface quite quickly. In an amazingly selfless act that she wouldn't have thought of two weeks ago, she began digging in the snow trying to find survivors. All that kept flashing through her head were all the TV shows she had watched about avalanches. Obviously, this hadn't been a normal avalanche, because none of them had shouted or made a loud noise, but she didn't care about that right now. She remembered from somewhere that if someone stayed submerged in a pile of snow for more then ten minutes they died slowly. She wasn't sure if it was right, but she wasn't paying attention to the voice in the back of her mind right now. A thin Hobbit face came into view, and she realized it was one of Sam's best friends, that dwarfish thingy called Frodo. She pulled him by the front of his shirt as she hauled him to the surface, and as she did so, something fell out onto the snow. Something that _sparkled_. And something that sparkled quite prettily against the backdrop of snow. It was a ring of sorts, nothing special if you just glanced at it, a simple band of beaten gold. It could have been on any proud newlywed's hand, but it was uncut and very plain if you only glanced at it. But Lizzie was giving it the most attention she had given anything in her life, because this ring was _special_. She was sure of that now.

Moreover, the ring was _talking_ to her.

Oh, not in words that she recognized, but some gutturally thick speech that somehow she could understand. The ring was quite simply asking her who she was, and then it said, in the sweetest and most irresistible voice she had heard in her life, to put her on her finger. Come on, the ring cajoled nicely, I just want to see if I fit. A pretty finger like yours should be adorned with _much_ more beautiful rings than I, but I'll have to do, now won't I? Lizzie gripped the ring in her hands, feeling the chain that was attached to it loop around her fingers. She let the chain fall through her fingers a few times, never taking her blue eyes - now very frightening looking and strangely hollow - off of the gold band that was whispering seductively in her heart. Oh, how sensible it would be if she put that ring on! And come to think of it, Sam and Amy weren't wearing any jewelry, were they? They would be positively _green_ with jealousy when they saw such a pretty ring like this. And somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew that something good, something _really _good would happen if she put it on her finger. And she realized she had never wanted anything so much as she wanted this ring. She wanted it to be _hers_. Come to think of it, she had just saved Frodo's life, hadn't she? So he owed her something, didn't he? Her soul was doing some very strange flips as she caressed the smooth metal surface, feeling it, _tasting it_, wanting nothing more then to possess it entirely…

It was yanked out of her hands sharply by a pair of grubby fingers. She snapped back to attention and saw Frodo staring at her like she had just slaughtered a goat with her bare hands in front of his very eyes. For a minute, an insane wave of pure hatred washed over her as she saw the ring in his hands. How dare he! How dare he just snatch it from her like that! Didn't he know who she _was_? She was Elizabeth Thompson, and he was only Frodo Baggins, the miserable little wench! She had a powerful urge to wrestle it out of his hands had Boromir not appeared at her shoulder and begun talking to her. She was dazed, her mind still over in Frodo's hands as she remembered the silky feeling of the ring against her palms. Boromir snapped his fingers in front of her, then gave up and simply slung her over her shoulder. Lizzie let out a protesting yell as he carried her back to the group, but it was muffled by his cloak and the high winds.

The Fellowship huddled together with the Hobbits and the girls in the center. Sam was doing her best to appear strong, but it was very hard to appear strong when she was leaning up against Gandalf as she fought to keep her eyes open. They were shouting something, discussing something in loud voices, and eventually Frodo - who was glaring mistrustfully at Lizzie for some reason - voiced his opinion. Sam's ears were still frozen, so she had no idea what he had said, but the Fellowship began moving down the mountainside. Her legs were shouting in protest, and her arm was shrieking in pain as she began to painfully lug herself down along with the rest of the Fellowship. Beside her, she was faintly aware of Legolas carrying Amy, and she saw that the elf was striding confidently atop the snow like he was the Yeti with snowshoes on.

Lucky bastard.


	8. Is That COURAGE?

**A/N: Enjoy this chapter. I'm not sure how this turned out, because my mind isn't really here at all. Anyway, leave a review and tell me.**

"Arms up, Lizzie!"

_Whack!_

"Ouch! Stop that!"

"Orcs do not stop on command!"

_Thwack!_

"You boob! You're not an Orc!"

Amy collapsed with giggles as she fell off the rock she was sitting on top of, holding her sides as Sam roared with laughter next to her. The look on Boromir's face at being called a boob was absolutely priceless. He actually lowered his sword and scowled at the two laughing friends, and then rolled his eyes when Lizzie doubled over, shrieking with laugher. He scratched the back of his neck. "Insulting nicknames aside, we need to finish the practice. Lizzie, arms _up_." he said. Lizzie pouted and hefted the knife she was wielding. It was about the length of her forearm, covered in intricate carvings and even a small ruby set into the pommel. She had nearly fainted at the sight of it, and when Aragorn allowed her to use it as a weapon she was even more excited. But training practice was very difficult, and all of the girls were having a hard time. Sam was almost always in a surly mood when she watched the training, irked beyond sensibility that she couldn't join them. She settled for hurling insults and jibes at them.

It only took another two minutes until Lizzie was disarmed, and the dirk went spinning across the rocky ground. Amy picked it up reluctantly, holding it awkwardly in both hands. She felt Legolas's eyes on her, and she felt a prickle crawl down her spine. He had been doing that a lot lately, watching her at odd moments. When she caught him doing it, he would look away and pretend to be fascinated with the clouds or the trees or something. Amy stepped forward, trying a defensive stance. "Very good," Boromir coached. "Remember, when you have the shorter blade -"

"Get in close, I know," Amy muttered. They traded blows carefully, one on each side, and then the duel began. Amy usually preferred Aragorn, seeing as he was much gentler and understanding about sparring, but today she had Boromir. She still had a nasty bruise across her upper back from the flat of his blade. To his credit, Boromir had apologized and Amy had forgiven him. But the bruise still twinged whenever she tried to pick up something heavy. The blades screamed together, sending a dazzling array of sparks, and Amy felt the vibrations shudder up her arm. She dropped the blade, yowling as she clutched her hand, which was tingling with pins and needles. Boromir was saying something, most likely chastising her, but Aragorn overrode him.

"Boromir and Amy, we need to get going. Gandalf believes we can reach the walls of Moria by nightfall." Aragorn said. Amy, relieved, put down the knife and hastily scampered out of the way of a disgruntled Boromir. Lizzie was already sliding herself into Boromir's cloak, and Sam was using her one good arm to roll up the sleeping bags and put them on Bill, the pony. It was routine now, and Amy knew her friends were slowly getting used to it. Sam and Sam, the Hobbit, both took their positions by Bill, and Lizzie snuggled close to the thick-bodied Gondorian steward. No doubt she would apologize later for calling him a boob, with many fluttering eyelashes and parted lips. Amy trudged ahead of the group, a little off to the side, as was her custom, and tried to pull her hair into a halfway decent braid. The rain they had gotten two days ago had washed it clean of all the dirt, and it was soft and silky once more, except it was nastily tangled. She really needed a good brushing, and probably a trim. She heard Gimli stumping behind the pony, growling something at Legolas, and she felt the blonde elven prince hurry up behind her, the tips of his ears pink with anger.

* * *

><p>"Whoa," Sam said. "Those are some pretty big walls."<p>

They were staring at the sheer black cliffs of Moria, a gigantic rocky wall that stretched to the heavens. They had spent the better part of the day climbing and heaving themselves over sharp precipices and jagged rocks so they could get into this valley. The valley supposedly led straight to the door, but none of them could see any kind of fissure or crack in the rough walls of Moria. A murky lake, roughly the size of a football field, was in the middle of the valley. A narrow path skirted around it, but Amy couldn't help staring at the stagnant, murky water. Broken branches jutted up, and a few slimy boulders were barely breaking the surface. The water looked old, yellowed, and very disgusting. A film of bluish mold covered some areas, and several feet of soupy grass floated underneath the water. There was something - barely a ripple - in the very center, and Amy wondered idly if there were frogs here. The bottom of the pond wasn't muddy, but very hard and rather rocky, which wasn't very conducive to frogs. Before she could ponder this any further, she heard Gimli saying something.

"Dwarves create their gates invisible, so their enemies may not find them," Gimli said, sounding very proud. Gandalf, however, sounded otherwise.

"And yet, Master Dwarf, their secrets may be long forgotten if their masters have passed on." He sounded rather chafed that he couldn't find the gates. He tapped one smooth section of the wall and grunted with dissatisfaction.

"Why does this not surprise me?" Legolas asked to the heavens. "We followed a dwarf's advice and now we are stuck." Amy hid a giggle behind her hair, and Legolas shot her a furtive smile. Gimli sniffed with disdain at the comment.

Two twisted, gnarled trees were the only landscape in the rocky valley, and Gandalf hurriedly approached them. Despite it being autumn, no foliage bedecked their branches, no marvelous colors of gold and red sang to them. Gandalf stroked the rough wall, his palm hovering over certain places, and a smile twitched his beard. Slender veins of silver ran through the wall, barely there, twisting and curving in a beautifully elaborate design that formed the shape of a door. "Isildin. This wall mirrors only starlight and moonlight, I believe." As if connected to a string, all heads turned to the sky. A full, robust moon, nearly full but not quite, grinned down on them toothily. The lines on the wall grew broader and clearer, brightly shining in the dim light, forming intricate symbols and glowing talismans, shimmering runes and radiant letters. Gandalf seemed very pleased with himself. "The words are in Elvish. It reads thus: 'The door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, Friend, and enter."

Merry shifted his weight and went a little closer to Sam, who put her hand on his head. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, looking from Gandalf to Gimli to Aragorn. Sam twined her fingers in his curly hair automatically, soothing him without saying anything. It had become a habit with her.

"'Tis quite simple. If you are a friend, and you know the password, you are to speak it, and it will let you in." Gandalf said, now sounding very smug. He raised his arms and bellowed at the door in a perfectly awe-inspiring voice. "_Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!"_ He said, sounding very impressive. The sky grew darker, and an unseen wind whispered through the two trees. The lines glowed a little brighter, perfectly dazzling in their radiance, and then they dimmed once more.

"This is bull," Sam snapped, glaring at the doors as if they had personally wronged her. She stumped over to a rock and sat down on it angrily, jutting her chin defiantly. "We're stuck here in a dark valley, cold, wet, hungry, and bored, and now we can't get in! What kind of adventure is this?" Amy shot her a look.

"This always happens in adventures. Gandalf will think of the password. You'll see."

* * *

><p>Three hours later, Amy had joined Sam's opinion. They were well and truly stuck. To pass the time, she and Lizzie played "Concentration", which was always difficult for Amy, who couldn't think as quickly as Lizzie could. They heard Gandalf muttering in the background, growling something in Dwarfish and then in Elvish, and at one point actually whacking the gateway with his stick. Sam was engaged with the Merry and Pippin, self-appointing herself the judge of their rock-throwing contest. Pippin glanced at Gandalf as the old wizard sat down, rubbing his temples. "Nothing's happening," Pippin noted. Gandalf rolled his eyes and bemoaned his fate.<p>

"I once knew every spell in Elvish, Common, and Dwarfish," he complained. He pushed against the doors, and then fell down again. "This is absurd," he mumbled to himself, and began chanting once more in Elvish. Pippin, who wasn't precisely the quickest on the uptake, paused with a large rock in his hand.

"What are you going to do, then?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. Gandalf peeked at him through his fingers, and Pippin saw the annoyance in Gandalf's eyes.

"You shall bang your head against those walls, Peregrin Took, until they open! And if that does not succeed, I shall continue to think of a password without the continually babbling idiots who pester me with pointless questions!" Gandalf snapped. Amy winced. Pippin, who either didn't understand Gandalf's long words or didn't really care, went back to throwing rocks.

Aragorn caught Merry's arm just before he heaved another rock into the murky water. Like Amy, he had noticed the ripples spreading out against the oily black water. "Do not disturb the water," he warned. "Something stirs." Merry looked simultaneously interested and fearful. Aragorn's hand crept towards his sword, and he exchanged a glance with Boromir, who was also readying himself. This did not go unnoticed by Sam, who turned her head quizzically as she examined the two warriors preparing themselves for battle.

Frodo, who had remained silent ever since they had arrived, suddenly looked enlightened. He turned quickly to Gandalf, his dark eyes suddenly glittering brightly. "'Tis a riddle! Just like in Bilbo's adventures!" he glanced at the inscription, and then went back to Gandalf. "Speak _friend_ and enter! What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"_Mellon_," Gandalf said. Silently, without so much as a rumble, the doors swung open slowly, and infinite blackness yawned at them. Amy unconsciously drew closer to Legolas, who looked down at his diminutive friend. Apparently she was frightened of the dark, among many other things. She took one chary step forward, and Sam shook her head, looking back at the oily water. The ripples where Merry and Pippin had thrown the rocks were not melting back into the water, but instead growing bigger. She felt the tension in the air, tasted it. The Fellowship warily stepped into the darkness, seeing the staircases that stretched in front of them. Gimli was elated, and had to restrain himself from doing a little jig. "Soon, my friends, you will enjoy the hospitality of the Dwarves of Moria, which is unrivaled by any other! They treat their guests like family, and you will taste the delicacies of Moria. Red meat dripping from the bone, foamy ale, and roaring fires!" He chuckled. "And they call this a mine. A _mine_!"

Gandalf breathed on a small crystal, which he inserted into his staff. As the dim light suddenly sweeps the room, Amy actually screamed. It was a shrill, keen scream that Legolas could feel as well as see. And had he not been familiar with the stench of death and corpses, he would have joined her. As it was, he felt an uncomfortable flip in his stomach. The putrid, thick stench of decaying bodies hit them hard, and Lizzie nearly fainted. She gagged, and dry-heaved, pulling herself closer to Boromir. All around them, dead dwarves, some half-mummified from their own blood, others mere skeletons, lay scattered. Their armor was rusted to dust, their shields without trim or design, and everything was peppered with arrows. Legolas snapped out a stubby black arrow and examined it. "Goblins." he spat.

Boromir sounded stricken. "This is no mine, Master Dwarf. This is a _tomb_." he said. Sam retched, then buried herself in Aragorn's chest, trying to block out the decaying stench. 'We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir said urgently. "'Twas a mistake to come here!" They hurried out, all of them pushing and scrambling to get out of the rotting stink.

The ripples has swelled to a wave. Before anyone could blink, a long, sinuous tentacle, slimy with age and colored a grayish-white, whipped out and lashed around Frodo's leg. The small Hobbit shrieked as he was dragged forcibly into the water, and Boromir and Aragorn plunge into the churning waves. Aragorn severs the tentacle, and they all hear a screech rip through the air. Frodo tried to scramble to safety, but more limbs shot from the water, dozens of them, all groping for bodies. The dark water boiled frothily as Frodo was once more dragged into the water. They all heard a guttural bellow, and Amy saw Sam disappearing beneath the waves. The brunette managed one choked scream before she was dragged beneath the slick water, down into the hidden depths. For the first time, they all saw the head of the horrific beast; sleek head, strong jaw, dripping teeth that were huge and blackened, six or seven wild eyes larger than dinner plates, and the mouth was gaping as it hauled Frodo above its yawning mouth. The Hobbit was in spasms of terror as he screamed and bucked, trying in vain to release the icy grip around his waist.

Later, Amy would try to recall what she had done. All she remembered was going completely, suddenly blank, and charging into the water with the dirk in her hand. The water was frigid, icy cold, and she felt the temperature drop buffet the air from her lungs. Dimly she remembered hearing the shouts and warnings of the Fellowship, and the wailing scream of Lizzie as she watched both her friends disappear beneath the water. Amy dived deep, opening her eyes underwater for the first time in her life as she searched for her friend. Visibility was practically nothing, and she ignored the burning, hacking sensation her lungs and eyes were sending to her brain. She caught a glimpse of a thrashing limb, and she thrust blindly with the dirk. She heard a wailing squeal, and suddenly she saw a pair of big brown eyes staring at her. Sam tore up to the surface, her arm in more pain than she remembered for a long while, and Amy was not far behind.

There was the sickening zip of an arrow plunging into the creature's eye, and the whole beast shuddered. Boromir had slung Sam over his shoulder before Amy even knew what had happened, and suddenly two muscular arms had been wrapped around her. Aragorn tossed both girls bodily inside the doors and the whole Fellowship piled in, scurrying away from the roaring beast behind them. The tentacles shot out again, this time grabbing the doors with a loud crunch. Tons of rock poured down, shale and boulders, earth and rock, completely shielding the entrance. The sounds of the monster outside were instantly muffled, and for a long moment they all stood there, trembling from the aftermath of the sudden, shocking attack. Then Aragorn broke the silence, turning angrily to Amy. "What were you thinking? Lady Amy, you could have been killed!" he growled. Amy got up, and Legolas saw something he had never seen before in Amy's eyes.

Defiance.

Bold-faced defiance.

"You think I'm going to let my best friend get eaten by some squid thing while I just sit there and twiddle my thumbs? Huh? Well, let me tell you something, buster, you got another thing coming! If she's in trouble, _I'm getting her out_. Capeesh?" her light green eyes were blazing with anger, and even though she was extremely shore and petite, Aragorn took a step backwards. She was ferocious when she was angry. Slowly, the Fellowship continued inside the cave, Gandalf leading the way. Sam dropped behind, staying with Amy at the rear of the procession, and whispered in her ear.

"You were freakin' _awesome_." Sam said. She felt, more than saw, Amy's grin.

"I know."


	9. That Damned Ornate Book

Moria was _not_ a comfortable place.

The girls discovered that after the third time Amy fell and scraped her hands on the rocks, and by the second night of sleeping on rocks that left their backs dotted with bruises Lizzie was ready to kill someone. Sam had erupted in a fight with Frodo, which was very unusual, Lizzie had been moaning all morning about her aching body, and Amy had been sobbing her eyes out off and on for two days. The stifling heat and tiny corridors were wearing on everyone's nerves, but they were grating harshly on the three most inexperienced travelers, mostly, Sam, Lizzie and Amy. The burst of fierce energy that had thrummed through Amy's system when she rescued her best friend had sizzled into nothingness, leaving behind a desperate loneliness and a bone-deep weariness that was beginning to border on depression. Sam had a relapse and spent half of the first morning chattering with chills and fever, bundled in Aragorn's cloak and sweating the poison out of her veins as Boromir carried her. Lizzie, the most vocal of the three, had begun swearing like a sailor and grouching at anybody who offered her help, even Boromir. It was difficult to reason with any of them, though the Fellowship did try. However, by the third day they were all just as exhausted and completely fed up with Lizzie's whining, Amy's crying, and Sam's constant grumping.

Amy had shuffled off into a corner to have a pee and a cry that afternoon, rubbing her eyes sleepily and trying hard not to sob in front of the Fellowship. For some reason she had been crying almost all the time, and, to her credit, she had tried hard to keep it quiet, but there had been times where she just wanted to scream. Everything was so _black_. The only light in the whole mine was Gandalf's staff, which exuded only a dim glow that was positively radiant in the blackness. She missed home, missed the Ground Round, missed her siblings, and missed the routine she had had back home. She wanted to sleep for a million years on her bed, wake up, and eat string cheese until she puked. She wanted her parents. She wanted her cat. And, most of all, she wanted her books. She missed her books, lined like sentries on her shelves, worn and creased from constant usage, the tattered paperbacks and smooth hard covers alike. She wanted to fall into _The Lightning Thief_ or _Harry Potter_, and fall in love all over again with the dark, mysterious, sexy Severus or the rugged, manly Poseidon. She wanted things to be normal. She wanted to be _home_. And she was becoming very upset that she had actually decided to go on a bike ride that day. It all came down to the math, she decided. It was God punishing her for not doing her homework, and now she was stuck in a stinking mine with corpses all around her and nothing to eat but stale bread and with her entire body aching and nothing to talk about except how tired they were…! So she stumbled away from the Fellowship as they rested for a moment while Gandalf tried to figure out where they were. She heard Lizzie whimpering about her blisters and Sam growling something about eating food, and she blocked them out. She needed light. She needed something to eat other than un-gnaw-able bread. But instead of finding either of these things, she found something almost as good.

"Guys! Hey, guys! Look! A pond!" she cried as her feet splashed into the dark water. The water was icy cold and it drenched her shoes and socks instantly. She scrambled out of the water and ripped off her sneakers, tossing the despondent shoes to one side as she tore off her socks. Behind her, Lizzie had forgotten about her blisters and was yanking off her shirt, leaving her topless except for a very dirty bra, and squealing as she dived into the dark liquid. Amy wasn't about to remove any clothing, but she didn't want to get her shirt wet, either. So she stayed in the shallows with her pants rolled up, hugging herself. A rivulet of water, drummed up from some underground source, was feeding the pool, and Lizzie called out that it became quite deep in the center. Sam, completely shameless in her eagerness to get into the water, had stripped to her underwear and plunged into the water. She emerged, her brown hair clinging to her stickily, a look of euphoria on her face.

"Amy! Get in, c'mon girl!" she said, and reached for Amy's ankle in the dark. Amy, who was not completely thrilled about diving into a pond where there might be who-knows-what, edged away from her. The rest of the Fellowship was looking away, very embarrassed to be in the company of three scantily clad women, and Amy felt her cheeks flame. She opened her mouth to apologize when she felt something snatch her leg and jerk her underneath the water. She screamed loud and long, but water filled her mouth and nose and she came up sputtering and screeching, her green eyes wide and terrified. She saw Sam doubling over with laughter, holding her sides as another huge laugh filled the cavern. Amy, completely humiliated to be taken in by her friend, splashed her with a wave of water and dunked the shaggy-haired brunette underwater. Lizzie, not about to be left out of the fun, added a few whoops for good measure and danced out of their reach.

Amy felt her sanity slipping back to her, and she clambered out of the water when Gandalf shouted at them to join the rest of the group. Politely, they looked away as Sam and Lizzie dressed once more, and Amy tried her best to wring out her sopping clothes. She gave another dirty look to Sam as they filed in behind Aragorn, who was trying hard not to eye Lizzie's curves, which were plainly visible in the damp clothes. "Sam, that is the _last_ time I am inviting you into a pond with me," Amy groused. "I would have been perfectly dry if you hadn't jerked me under." Sam's wicked grin spread over her face as she smiled at her friend.

"Oh, but you would have been so hot," Sam said in a false goody-two-shoes voice. "I just cooled you off, that's all." She ducked Amy's swat, giggling, her good humor returning as she bounced quickly in line behind the Hobbits, ruffling their hair as usual. Lizzie snuggled up to Boromir, who was looking simultaneously scandalized and extremely smug as he conversed with the pretty blonde in a low voice. Whatever he said must have pleased the model, because she flipped a wet strand of her hair and batted her eyelashes at the handsome Gondorian steward. Amy turned away and tried not to retch. Boromir was too nice to be taken in by the Venus Flytrap that was currently reeling him in expertly until she got what she wanted, aka, got Boromir to hop in the sack. Lizzie was a pretty girl, but, well, she had a reputation.

Legolas was fighting hard within himself not to notice Amy as she stumbled behind Pippin, her wet red hair sticking to the back of her neck. Her wet clothes were clinging to every curve, leaving little or no decency, and she was very obviously aware of this. Her lack of, erm, _womanly attributes_ in the chest area was more than made up for in the rather nice rear view. Legolas cursed himself as he dropped his eyes to the ground. He had no right to be looking at her like that. He was at least ten times her age, and she wasn't even an elf! She was a Human, albeit a pretty one, and their races could absolutely not mix. So he kept his eyes glued to the floor, and staunchly ignored the attractive way her hips swayed slightly when she walked on the uneven ground.

09

"Behold the Dwarrowdelf, home of the Dwarves."

Amy hardly heard him. She was standing stock still, in utter awe of the gigantic pillars that stretched to the ceiling. Runes and words were carved into them scrawling up to the massive heights, and Amy thought she had never seen anything as beautiful. The hallway was filled with a colossal oaken table that would have been holding tons of food had it been in use. Dusty tapestries, some stained viciously with blood, others tattered or badly shredded, hung on the walls, depicting epic battle scenes in intricate embroidery. She felt an overwhelming sadness, almost a grief, squeezing her soul. She would never be able to see Moria in the glorious splendor, never be able to sit by the fire and eat juicy meat, and never hear the gruff baritones of the dwarves swapping yarns. A broken sob came from behind her, and she saw Gimli trying to hide his tears behind his axe, wiping his eyes with his wrist guards. Amy felt sympathy well up in her chest, and she patted his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He twitched, but left her hand there, and instead continued crying. They shuffled forward, unwilling to disturb the solemn quiet of the great hall, as if the corpses were merely sleeping and could not be awoken. A small door, hanging crazily off its hinges, was off to the side, and Amy saw a small sign lying facedown on the floor near it. She crouched down and flipped it over, reading the letters that had been carefully spelled out in both Dwarvish and Common:

_**Library Of Moria**_

She felt hope explode in her chest. A library? With books? She broke apart from the Fellowship quickly, and pushed aside the broken door. It rattled dryly on its hinges, but she managed to pull herself inside. When she was on the threshold, she had to stop. The room was gigantic, with vaulted ceilings and sagging bookshelves that were cracking under the weight of scrolls and tomes. The room was relatively untouched, other than a corpse of a small dwarf who had apparently trying to hide behind the shelves. Blood stained the dusty carpet, and as Amy stepped further into the room, clouds of dust rose underneath her feet. She went over to the nearest shelf and drew a finger along the spines of the tomes, then sifted her hands through the thick scrolls. She unrolled one and marveled at the gorgeous calligraphy, the amazing letters practically miniature sketches. Naturally, it was in Dwarfish, so she put it back and searched for a book in Common. A thick wedge of a book caught her eye and she tugged it from its place. The cover of the book was smooth white hide, and the edges were embroidered with meaningless gold thread, causing the color to change when she tilted it. The spine of the book said simply _Tales of Moria_. It was too large to be comfortably carried, but she had an odd feeling, something remarkably akin to desire. For a book. She shook her head and tucked it under her arm, then scurried outside to rejoin the Fellowship.

It was only when she stepped into the main hall that she heard the boom of the drums.

She whirled around, all the color draining from her face, and tried to scream. She really did. Fear had frozen her throat, and all that escaped her was a pathetic whimper. She opened her mouth again to call for anyone, Sam, Legolas, even Lizzie would have been preferable than to stay out here and face those awful drums. She heard a door slam shut behind her, and she turned again, trying to call out. There were two metallic chunking noises as they propped something against the doors, most likely locking them shut. Amy felt an icy ribbon of terror weave down her back, pooling in her belly. She was locked away from the Fellowship, and she was going to face the danger of those horrible drums. By herself.

The main doors to the hall burst open, and the scream she had been trying to scream flew from her mouth. It was high and keening, one of pure unadulterated horror as she realized what she was facing. A horde of monsters were charging towards here, ugly stunted things with greasy bald heads and black jagged teeth bared in menacing sneers. Tattoos and piercings studded their faces, and rusty weapons were gripped hard in their slimy fists. They emitted guttural roars as they thrust themselves forward. But standing behind them, beating its chest, was the reason why Amy was screaming so wildly. A massive thing was bucking frantically, trying to wrench the huge chains off of its arms and neck. It swung itself forward on its knuckles like some disgusting primate as it butted its head forward. Two tusks, dripping already with black blood, were jutting from its lower jaw, and chains also hung from these mighty weapons. It was covered in a shaggy layer of grayish fur that was matted in several places, and it threw back its head and whooped an immense cry of savage joy. It bulled forward, crushing one of its own allies as it tried to reach the smell of blood that was dancing tantalizingly in front of its nostrils. The tiny, piggish eyes lit up when they saw Amy, standing stock still, her mouth open, with no weapon in her hands except a thick book.

She bolted, holding the book tightly in her arms as she continued to scream, her green eyes wide and terrified. She continued down the hallway, running as fast as she could, but for some reason she didn't drop the book. She couldn't.

And that book, that damned ornate book, might just cost her life.


	10. They Have A WHAT?

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I decided to do Moria in two chapters, mostly because its such an epic scene. And also, I have no time to continue it! I don't like doing my chapters more than five pages, and this is capping it, so here you go! **

The steady, monotonous beat of the drums roared through Sam's system. It was deeper than the lowest note of a bass guitar, louder than a thunderclap, and it was sending the Hobbits into bouts of near-hysteria. Boromir and Aragorn shouldered their way to the front of the little group, readying bows, taking careful aim at the doors which were trembling slightly. Legolas had already smoothly notched an arrow to his string, and was evaluating the room carefully. Gandalf was guiding the Hobbits behind him, and Sam noticed all the color draining from their chubby faces. Frodo, bless his heart, unsheathed Sting first and tried to imitate Aragorn's fighting pose, but Sam noticed the tip of his sword shaking uncontrollably. Lizzie was surprisingly calm, staying behind Gandalf and very close to Frodo. Had Sam been more attentive, she would have noticed Lizzie's hands unnaturally close to Frodo's shoulders, as if to jerk him to one side and pounce on him. But any suspicion Sam might have had in her mind was instantly obliterated when she realized a very shy, very redheaded person was very noticeably missing. Her face went chalky white as she felt her stomach plummet. "Amy!" she shrieked, as if saying her name could conjure her from midair. "Where's Amy?"

She bolted towards the oaken doors which had been bolted shut by two thick halberds, ready to go through hell and high water to find her friend. A door, which had stood through the eons and been cemented into the impregnable rock, was not going to stand in her way. Legolas caught her around the waist before she had made it three steps, his arm snapping around her middle in a blur of speed. "Samantha, stay behind Gandalf with the Hobbits," he ordered, his voice wintery and colder than frosted steel. "You're injured."

"Damn my shoulder!" Sam screamed, thrashing wildly. The bandages which had been so carefully applied earlier that week were dirty tatters by now, and she wrestled her way out of Legolas's hard grip. Her cheeks, which had been so deathly pale only moments before, were blotchily red with anger and a fierce determination. Her brown eyes were nearly black as she searched the surrounding area for a weapon, any weapon. The nearby corpse of a dwarf caught her eye. It had an axe embedded in its skull. She ripped it from its gruesome tethers and hefted it, the bolt of pain that ricocheted up her arm echoing only dimly. The real Sam was buried underneath layers of adrenaline and a sheer, white-hot, magma torrent of battle rage. The door buckled once as spears began to hack away at it, and she felt an alien feeling soaring through her veins. Her eyes were slitted as she copied the stance she had seen Amy use so often, dancing out of Aragorn's reach as he boomed orders in her ears. But she didn't care. The only thing that stood between her and Amy was a door. One little door.

The little door exploded as the Orcs flooded inside. She was out in front, and for the first time since she had been in Middle Earth, she felt fear. An icy finger of utter terror stroked down her spine, sending ripples of goosebumps across her skin as she faced the horde of monsters. They were short, about four feet tall, with blackened skin that was greasy and gleaming with sweat. Orange eyes, striped with a sickening yellow, were wild with a savage hate and a lust for blood. Black fangs were bared in menacing snarls, and claw like hands gripped rusty swords and chipped spears. They bullied their ways forward, panting reptilian breaths of hot air as they forced through the mobs. Howls of triumph, guttural roars akin to sea lions barking, echoed through the tomb. Three arrows hissed around Sam, sending three Orcs to the floor grasping their throats as black blood bubbled between their claws. She hefted the axe and skipped to the left, burying it deep in the skull of a scrawny Orc with a curved sword. The beast gave a high-pitched squeal and died, its body wrenching horrifically in death throes. But Sam was already twisting her axe out of its head, sending brains and blood spraying across the floors. She was a machine. She would find Amy if she had to whack off the head of every thing that came through those doors.

Then the troll arrived.

* * *

><p>Amy rocketed down the hallway, clutching the book to her chest as she skidded in the dark hallways. She turned corners madly, her heart pounding wildly, her breath coming in flat, rapid gasps of a fugitive. One more corner, and she flattened herself against the wall, listening. The book dug into her arms as she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. A bird of panic was fluttering at her throat, threatening to burst out and send her into a degenerating spiral of hysteria. She fought to keep her head. If she allowed panic to overtake her, she would be useless. She would die. Amy closed her eyes, listening closely, every fiber of her being praying that she wasn't being followed. The book felt like an anchor, dragging her down into inky depths. There was a faint noise in the distance, a dim roar similar to the swell of the ocean, but other then that it was completely silent in Moria. The panic didn't abate in the slightest, for every nerve ending in her body was screaming that something was lurking in the darkness. It happened in all the movies. The hero would turn a corner, and the monster would spring out of the shadows. But minutes passed, minutes that stretched into glimpses of eternity, and nothing came out of the darkness. A long, soft breath was expelled from between Amy's lips, and a fraction of the tension rolled off of her shoulders.<p>

She peeked around the corner and nearly slapped straight into a bulky Orc.

Orcs are not stalkers by nature. They do not have an innate ability to sneak up on their prey, luring them ever closer by comforting silence and appearance. They prefer to kill their meal quickly, in a no-nonsense way that will not allow the meat to toughen. It had taken every shred of this particular Orc's patience to keep from pouncing on the tender looking human. Seconds before she poked her head around the corner he could feel his endurance fraying, and had been willing to just take his chances by cutting downwards blindly around the corner. But now that the tantalizing human was within his reach, he wasted no time. His cutlass, worn around the hilt and spotted with rusty blossoms, came swinging down at Amy's neck. She reacted instinctively, bringing her hands up to shield her throat. Luckily for her, her hands were still clenching the book in a blood-out-of-stone grip. The sword sank into the book with a rotted _whap_, and Amy felt the tip of the sword scratch her throat. An uncharacteristic anger welled in her breast, similar to the rapid dissolving of a dam as water leaks through. It had dared to touch her book! She twisted the book to the side, wincing as the pages ripped internally, turning the Orc's wrist sharply and causing it to squeal shrilly in pain. The rusty sword went spinning across the narrow passageway, and Amy darted over to it so she could pry the book from the swords edge.

Apparently the Orc didn't need a blade to devour her, for it tackled her with a guttural roar. She felt red hot claws swiping across her chest, scoring it shallowly as the beast pawed for her neck. Every self defense class she had taken suddenly evaporated from her mind, and one thought kept running in circles around her mind: _Get him off of me!_ She kicked upwards with her knees, hitting his groin and lower belly with a disgusting crunching noise. Had there been sufficient light in the hallway, Amy would have seen its pupils dilating into a look of sheer horror. It let out a strangled moan and continued scrabbling at her neck, cutting thin red welts into the delicate flesh. She rolled onto one side, sprawling the Orc on its back, and her fingers groped blindly in the darkness for the hilt of the sword. Her fingertips were rubbed raw over the rocky floor as she felt the Orc's nails biting deeper into her shoulders, belly, and throat. Her index finger ghosted across a firm surface, smoother than a rock, and she lunged for it.

Her fingers closed around the sword as she felt the Orc's teeth sink into her stomach.

* * *

><p>Lizzie watched calmly as Sam battled her way through the mobs. A queer feeling of complete serenity was flooding her system, dispelling the urges to scream and run around. She watched as Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas choked off the supply of Orcs as they continued to come into the room, noted Gandalf's angry face as he shot beams of light from his staff. The Orcs were completely ugly - the ugliest things she had ever seen. Part of her remembered that she should be scared stiff right about now, but the new feeling of queenly tranquility soothed it. She looked down at the small Hobbits, and smiled winningly, feeling her chapped lips slide across her teeth. <em>That's<em> what was making her feel this way. It was that tiny bauble bouncing frantically on Frodo's chest. That small ring that would fit so perfectly on her finger. She took one step nearer to it, wanting to have more inner calm as she actually reached for the ring. She imagined how it would feel on her finger; cool, small, firm enough to cling to her finger, but not constricting. It would look so pretty in the sunlight, winking and smiling in the faces of the Fellowship. They would cherish her then, and they would worship the ground she walked on. Which finger would she put it on? Her right ring finger, she decided. It would look prettiest on that one. She was half a step away from putting the ring on her finger, half a step away from snatching the necklace from Frodo's neck, when the door shattered and a full grown cave troll bulled inside.

For a moment, she felt a terror that belonged to a deer staring into headlights. And she had every right to be; the cave troll was gigantic, larger than an elephant, with a colossal iron collar ringing its neck. Spikes jutted from the collar, adding just another weapon to the already hefty arsenal. A thin layer of grayish fur covered its scaly body, the muscles bulging underneath oddly contrasting skin, and fangs dripped with a mixture of blood and saliva as it bellowed. Its small, piggish eyes swept through the room, evaluating the targets as it looked for the easiest prey. Lizzie felt her body trying to panic, trying to scream and bolt for cover, but then the ring assuaged her fears with a whisper of that beautiful, beautiful voice. She relaxed almost instantly as she followed the instructions the ring was telling her to obey. They were easy instructions, and she began to follow them to the letter. She turned to see the Hobbits scattering in all directions, searching blindly for places to hide. She felt a fond smile steal over her lips. Silly little creatures. Why would they run from a cave troll? She was the real threat. Anger flared in her chest, hard and bright. Stupid animals. Why were they cowering from a troll when they should be bowing in fear before her? She raced over to Frodo, who was diving for a boulder patch. "Outta my way, midget," Lizzie snarled in a raspy voice very unlike her usual dulcet tones. She sent Frodo sprawling across the floor with a well-aimed kick.

The troll, seeing the movement, stopped crushing its captors underfoot and honed in on the terrified Hobbit who was now grasping feebly at the boulder patch where Lizzie was hiding behind. The troll tossed the gigantic spear of wood that it was gripping and turned to Frodo. Something like a maniacal grin twitched its filthy, ugly muzzle, and it stabbed the wood into Frodo's stomach. The small Hobbit went white, his eyes widening to fantastic diameters, and then he toppled to one side. Lizzie peeked out from behind her boulder patch, and she felt as though someone had slapped her clean across the kisser. The peaceful serenity she had once had vanished like water on a hot sidewalk. Someone had _died_ because of her. All because of some stupid ring! How could she have just done that?

But that stupid ring was glittering invitingly on Frodo's chest.

Drunkenly, she crawled out from behind the boulder patch and put a tentative hand on Frodo's chest. Traitorously, she heard herself composing a speech to pick up the spirits of the Fellowship. _"There, there, there. We must respect Frodo's death and press on. We should not disgrace his memory by weeping. He would have wanted us to continue. Therefore, it is with great personal grief, that I will continue Frodo's legacy and take the ring." _One finger caressed the smooth surface of the ring, and she saw her reflection in the dull surface. Then there was a splitting headache that cracked across her forehead, remarkably akin to be sliced into the scalp. Moria melted away, the sounds of the battle, everything for a brief moment. She saw a blinding flash of fire, an eye of magma with a core of inky black. Thick Black Speech twisted through her brain like branding irons, and she fell backwards with a little scream.

The ring was going to kill her if she wasn't careful.

* * *

><p>"Lizzie! Come on, lets go!" Sam snapped, one hand plunging downwards to capture Lizzie's arm. She hauled her upright and ignored the quivering, the lip wobbling, the paleness in both of her cheeks. Sam knelt next to Frodo, who was sweaty and trembling all over. Aragorn was laughing with relief, but Sam didn't feel like laughing. Amy was still missing. Sam tore past the corpses of Orcs and the huge body of the slain troll as she bolted towards the door that was hanging lazily off of its hinges. She would find Amy, find her if it was the last thing she did. She heard footsteps behind her and didn't bother turning; she knew it was the rest of the Fellowship, hurrying out of the scene of the battle. Legolas passed her, then spared her a glance. He waited for a fraction of a beat, his chilly blue eyes meeting with hers.<p>

"Samantha, we will find her," he said. There was a crack in his voice that betrayed his feelings. "We will find Amy. I swear it."

"Bullshit. I'll believe it when I see her." Sam growled, shoving through the rest of the Fellowship and down the narrow hallway.

It was at that improbably moment that Amy slammed straight into Legolas. She let out a little "oomph", and would have fallen to the floor had Legolas not caught her tightly by her forearms. Their faces were suddenly, alarmingly close, and he saw every little detail of her rounded features. Those eyes, Valar, those eyes were beautiful. But those pale green discs, like tiny leaves uncurling in new spring, were filled with fear. Absolute, unequivocal fear. He looked down at her, and his pale eyes suddenly darkened to the point of blackness. "You're bleeding." he said, and his voice was rough and low. "Amy, what happened?"

She looked like she was about to faint as she touched her fingers to her bleeding stomach. "An Orc," she whispered. "Followed me. Oh, God, this hurts!" she cried as Legolas's fingers brushed her bruised belly. He glanced behind him, and his keen ears pricked up as he heard the sound of approaching goblins.

"We have no time," he said brusquely. "Aragorn!" he shouted. "Aragorn, help me!" The warrior turned around on a dime and picked up Amy in one quick movement. Amy cried out again, and this time it was laced with pain and thick with fear. She was being carried by a man she had hardly exchanged words with in a mine full of monsters that were hot on their heels.

It was going to be close.


	11. Fly, You Fools

**A/N: Do you guys realize that there are twenty three people that have this story on alert? So that means twenty three people will receive a little note in their email inbox telling them that this story has been updated. And that means twenty three people can leave a review. Right?**

**Warning: Sad chapter. Character death.**

A bolting, jarring sensation awoke Amy from her semi-unconscious coma. She was aware of a dim pain near her stomach, and her head felt as though someone had mistaken it for a bell and struck it hard. But all in all, it was not a very unpleasant way to wake up, considering her nostrils were filled with a spicy, woody smell of smoke and freshly overturned earth. A dull edge was digging into her cheek and a rounded surface was bumping harshly against her hip. Amy cracked one eye open and everything swam fuzzily in her vision, images sliding in and out of each other. The rough jarring feeling was Aragorn running, she slowly realized, and she was being carried by him. Both of her pale green eyes opened now, and she blinked hard, trying to rip her eyelashes out of the blood which had caked by her temple. A deeper, more rancid, festering odor reached her nose, and she knew something was approaching. She felt the deep humming in her core, and she began to struggle slightly. If she was going to die, she would die like her hero, General Maximus Aurelius, with strength and courage. Aragorn felt her shift and he set her down, snatching her plump cheeks with both of his calloused hands. "Amy, keep running!" he barked at her, his dark brown eyes locking onto hers. Apparently he thought she was still asleep, for he repeated this several more times before Amy managed to give a bleary nod. As soon as she nodded her confirmation, Aragorn took off at a dead run, surging his way through the Fellowship like a cresting wave. Amy stumbled after them, her feet skidding and tripping over the uneven floors.

She tried to keep her chin up, so she could die like General Maximus Aurelius, but when she turned around, all thoughts of courage evaporated like rainwater on a hot sidewalk.

Hundreds of goblins were chasing them. They looked different from Orcs, for they were slightly slimmer and their skin was more sallow, but they had the same ugly grimaces, baring black fangs dripping with saliva, and oily hair that grew in patches on their skulls. Thin, olive-green skin flecked their cheeks and from this distance it looked as though they were lightly scaled. Noses were either canine snouts or snakelike slits; their eyes were a fetid yellow that reminded Amy of sickness, death, disease, gangrene. Ears were pulled sharply backwards and nearly touched each other behind their small heads, but Amy had had enough of looking at them. Terror once more leapt to her throat and she began to shuffle forward. It was both a blessing and a curse to be so hazy with pain; blessed, because each step felt like a marathon and trying to lift one leg at a time was taking all of her energy; cursed, because the goblins were rapidly approaching and Amy was still far behind the Fellowship.

Sam whirled around, axe still clenched in her hand, and she charged towards the approaching goblins. Amy was limping along, her freckled visage deathly white, and Sam was not going to lose her again. Passing by, Sam sank an axe into a nearby goblin's chest, wrenching it out as green blood spurted from the fatal wound. The goblin died with a hideous shriek that echoed several times around the cavern through which they were passing. Amy stopped when she saw Sam, and nearly collapsed with sobs as Sam hauled her forward by the forearm. Sam had never been one for trimming her nails, and her fingers dug red welts into Amy's tender arms. But that was then and chasing goblins was now; Sam ran slap bang into Boromir, who was shielding Lizzie with his body. A look of savage, inhuman pleasure was on his face as he faced the goblins who were now encircling them. He had resigned himself to his death, but he would go down fighting and protecting his friends and the one he loved.

Amy and the Hobbits were in the center as Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, Gimli, and Sam grouped around them tightly. She felt small hands - childlike hands - supporting her, and glanced down briefly at Pippin and Merry, two small faces twisted with concern and worry. The screams of the goblins were higher pitched and more growls than yells now, and Amy closed her eyes. This was it. She was going to die in a fictional world, surrounded by fictional characters, being slaughtered by fictional monsters. But if it was all fictional, why did it feel so real? She felt a flurry of hot tears slide down her cheeks, and a dry sob wrenched from her chest. A hand, larger than the Hobbits small ones, found hers, and she found herself looking into Lizzie's pale blue eyes. They were both crying. Amy and Lizzie embraced once, briefly, their shoulders barely touching as they found an instant of comfort in each other. Then they separated, Lizzie clinging to Boromir's shield and Amy allowing the Hobbits to support her once more.

And then, miraculously the goblins retreated. They looked up, and their squeals of war cries became guttural roars of fear. They melted into the blackness, scrambling up pillars and into minuscule cracks in the masonry, disappearing as silently as mice and as quickly as cockroaches. Amy felt her fear be replaced by confusion; why were they running?

Then they found out why.

A gigantic beast, larger than two elephants stacked atop one another, crouched bearlike in the hall. Leathery black wings of colossal proportions unfurled, each membrane rimmed with smoke and flames. Its triangular head has two soulless black eyes that see straight into nothing, gigantic ram horns curled three times around each ear. Fire is wrapped around its huge body, and a tail thrashes somewhere behind it. A whip, made of molten fire, lashes the air viciously and a sword caked with thousands of layers of blood is brandished in the air. A deep, harsh roar is shouted from its throat, and its clawed feet take a menacing step forward. Amy felt fear constrict her soul and body and mind, and she wasn't even aware of Legolas pulling her sharply behind him, of voices yelling at her to run. She followed Aragorn slowly, trying with all her might to pick up one foot and put it in front of the other.

And then it appeared in front of them, a single might arch of stone spanning a bottomless pit which gaped below them. The bridge had gaps and cracks running through it, and in one section it had crumbled away entirely. Aragorn bolted across it, leading the others across, and shoving them forward. Legolas lept gracefully across, landing on his fingers and the balls of his feet, and then he swiveled to catch the next person. Boromir lunged across, passing Legolas, and was closely followed by Sam. Sam threw herself across and nearly succeeded in knocking Legolas into the pit below them, then followed Boromir. The Hobbit came, one at a time, and then Gimli. Ridiculously, the bushy-bearded dwarf raised a fuss about being tossed. "I'm a dwarf!" he grunted, "An' no man tosses a dwarf!"

The Balrog hissed and smashed the nearest wall with its tail, sending refrigerator sized-chunks of rock flying. Aragorn seized Gimli bodily and threw him forcefully across the chasm, but Gimli's fingers nearly slipped and missed purchase on the rock. Legolas, his hand outstretched faster than blinking, gripped Gimli's beard firmly and dragged the dwarf to safety. The Hobbits made it across without trouble, and Aragorn jumped off. He turned, and dim comprehension flowed over his face when he saw Gandalf facing the Balrog.

"Demon! You will not pass!" he shouted, his sword glowing brightly and his staff electric. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Sword of Anon! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

The Balrog roared piercingly, and lunged at Gandalf. Sword and staff were brought sharply together, metal fusing with wood, magic twisting with magic. "YOU - SHALL - NOT - PASS!" Gandalf barked, and stabbed his staff and sword into the bridge. A sheet of white hot flame sprang up and the bridge dissolved like sand beneath the Balrog's curved claws. The monster fell into the bottomless chasm, fiery roars splitting the skies. Gandalf drew a hand across his wet forehead and turned to go, his gray eyes heavy.

A tongue of purest flame whipped out of the abyss and flicked around Gandalf's ankle. The gray wizard gave a indistinct cry of surprise and was jerked to the very edge where the Balrog had fallen. He clung precariously by the tips of his fingers, gravity tugging his towards his doom. His gray eyes locked with Frodo's, then Aragorn's.

"Fly, you fools."

And let go.

Things moved in slow motion, a damp, underwater quality. Amy felt herself lunging forward, pain forgotten, nothing but a blinding glare of horror and grief slashing her chest. She felt blood ooze from the fresh wounds she was tearing in her soft belly, but she didn't care. It was only when she saw Frodo being caught around the waist by Boromir did she nearly make it. She was almost at the edge, could almost see herself reaching out to catch Gandalf, who by now was already dueling the Balrog to the death; but strong arms wrapped around her hips and dragged her backwards. "No!" she shrieked. "No! No! No! Let me go!" she screamed and thrashed, jamming her elbows into the flat stomach of whoever was holding her captive. She was pulled hard against a firm chest and she unwillingly breathed in a lungful of mossy pines and crisp leaves. She punched Legolas weakly in the stomach but there was no effort behind the punch. She allowed herself to be picked up and dragged away, the tips of her toes skimming the ground, her mane of red hair falling in a curtain around her face. The flame of anger had left her, and she was now

frozen with grief.

How long they hurried through twisting passageways, Amy didn't know. But it must have been some time later for the sun was affixed midway in the sky when Legolas set her down gently on the ground. She made no move to catch herself as she fell, but instead allowed her body to collapse on the ground. The rocks scraped her cheek and arms badly, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered. Faintly, she heard the Hobbits crying, but she felt too raw and painful to cry. This went beyond tears. She lay there for what could have been moments, instants, seconds, minutes, hours, years, centuries, eternities, lifetimes. Then Aragorn's crisp voice broke through the cool midday.

"Legolas, get them up." Aragorn commanded. Boromir turned to him, his face haggard. Tears were also falling from his eyes as he looked at his leader with shock and horror.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir insisted, his large hand patting Merry gently on the back. Aragorn shook his head firmly.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs and goblins of all creeds. Legolas, get them up." He repeated.

Slowly, they got to their feet. Sam and Lizzie were sobbing against each other, burying faces in each others' wet necks as they cried themselves out. But Amy felt washed out, numb, horrified. She shuffled forward silently, and then felt herself being hugged fiercely by Sam and Lizzie. For a long moment, the three girls cried against each other, cried because Gandalf was dead, cried because they had nearly died, cried out of pain and suffering, hardships and toils.

They cried for a long time, and by the end they all still felt the heavy baggage of grief weighing heavily on their souls.


	12. What The Heck Does THAT Mean?

**A/N: Excellent job on reviewing, you guys! Enjoy your traditional cookie! Oh, and let's play spot the pairing again! Every correct answer gets a Klondike Bar with Heath Bar Crunch! (Sorry, I'm simultaneously making dinner and posting this chapter, so I'm kind of food oriented.) But seriously, look closely and see if you can catch my "tiny" pairing. xD**

The silver trees stood like majestic pillars reaching to the heavens, the gray bark etched with beautiful spiraling patterns. Golden leaves clung desperately to their branches, but a good quantity of them had fallen to the ground and carpeted the forest floor with shimmering yellow leaves. Sam glanced behind her, her dark eyes dropping low as soon as she ascertained that Amy was all right. The quiet redhead had collapsed two hours ago, and Legolas was carrying her. The tall elf hadn't said a word all day; indeed, any conversation that was partaken between the Fellowship members was stilted and coarse. Lizzie looked terrible; her long, straight blonde hair was matted and her clear blue eyes were rimmed with red. Dark circles had been stamped underneath her eyes, and her face looked drawn and tired. All of them were soaked with the spray of black and green blood, and some of the Hobbits were still nursing wounds. They had paused just outside of Moria to tend to Sam, Frodo and Amy's wounds; it had been determined that Amy's belly wounds were not life threatening; a good many of them were quite shallow, except for a nasty bite near her navel. But coupled with the stress of Moria and the loss of Gandalf, her system had been overworked harshly. Sam knew Amy; the poor dear kept going and going until she literally ran herself to the ground. She kept her eyes straight ahead as they trooped through the forest, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her broken battle axe. She still hadn't let go of it; the weapon was old, rusty, and chipped in three places, but it felt good in her hands.

Gimli was tense, and when he was tense, the entire Fellowship was tense. "Tread softly, Hobbits," he warned, his voice barely above a whisper, his thick Dwarvish accent hampering his words. "They say that a sorceress of mighty power lives in these woods. She ensnares her victims with her extreme beauty, and when they least expect it -" he dragged a finger across his throat melodramatically. Seeing as this failed to get a rise out of anyone, he puffed out his chest slightly. "But this is one dwarf she won't lay a finger on!" he boasted. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

A rather sharp arrow was suddenly dangerously close to his neck. His eyes crossed as he glanced at the smooth silver shaft, flighted with slick white feathers. The intricate golden bow was too close for comfort, and the handsome elf who wielded it had a smirk on his face. Long silver hair had glided over his broad shoulders, and Sam could tell he was different from Legolas and the other elves. He was taller and broader, with piercing gray eyes that flickered between the members of the Fellowship. "This dwarf," he drawled, stretching and warping the word _dwarf_ until it sounded like an oath, "breathes so loudly we could have shot him in the _dark_."

Sam felt a low growl rising in her throat, but fought to keep her raging temper. They had struggled so far to be hampered by an elvish pretty-boy who thought it would be funny to stick arrows in people's faces. It is quite possible that Sam would have let fly with her broken axe until Haldir was pinned to the tree by it, but Aragorn stepped forward. "Haldir," he said urgently, speaking in rapid Elvish, "We come here for your help. We have friends who need protection and desire medical aid." Sam glanced between Haldir and Aragorn, gauging their faces against Aragorn's quick, genteel Elvish. Gimli didn't seem so wild about Haldir either.

"Aragorn! These woods speak of danger. We should take our wounded elsewhere and go back." Gimli said. Haldir shot him a very nasty look that did not bode well for the next person to speak.

"You are in the woods of Lorien," he growled, sounding as though he were explaining why the moon was round to a child, "You cannot return." Haldir's silvery gray eyes flitted through the ranks of the Fellowship members, then fell upon Frodo. The young Hobbit drew impulsively nearer to Aragorn. "Come, little one," Haldir said, his voice gentler. "She is waiting."

09

The city stretched before them like a glittering map, gigantic trees heaving upwards as they stood in awe upon a low hill. The black trees stood out sharply against the silvery glow the moon was giving to the entire forest, and they could see the slight figures of elves sitting on the branches. Gray cottages, smooth walls, still pools with small footbridges going over the calm waters, it was all too much for Sam to take in at once. Small birds, flashes of green on their chests, fly from branch to branch, warbling lightly in the serenity of Lothlorien. They followed Haldir over a wide path, across a pebbled bridge that draws breathtakingly close to the edge of a cliff, passing over a waterfall which plunged down hundreds of feet. Sam felt the spray on her face, and it was like a breath of fresh air in an oven. Wiping her cheeks hastily, she continued on, her scuffed, tattered Nikes barely making any noise as they continued through Lothlorien. Mountains stood out harshly against the dark sky, black teeth tearing into the fabric of the air, peaks swathed in mysterious clouds and icy snow.

The staircase ahead of them was sweeping and long, something that belonged on the _Titanic_. The Fellowship stood in a line, and Sam caught a glimpse of Legolas setting Amy down gently on her feet. The messy-haired redhead's eyes were barely open, and she leaned against Legolas, mumbling indistinctly. Lizzie was still clinging to Boromir, and Sam felt rather uncomfortable. Her friends were all pairing up, but what about her? She scratched her ear and glanced upwards, and forgot all romantic interests whatsoever.

The woman before them was beautiful. She was beyond beautiful, more gorgeous and alluring than any woman Sam had ever seen. Golden curls tumbled, unbound, around her shoulders, and striking eyes of clearest cobalt swept over the ragged Fellowship. Her eyes were the exact color of pools in some tropical paradise, the very picture of peace and serenity. A white dress curved around her slender body elegantly, enveloping her in long sleeves and a wide neckline. Sam had never had any inclination to wear a dress - _none_ whatsoever - but the dress and the woman were so beautiful she felt very self conscious. Surreptitiously, she rubbed at the dried blood on her nose and tried to look inconspicuous. A man beside her, tall and graceful, with dark gray hair that fell to his shoulders, held her hand gently. His flashing blue eyes glanced at each member of the Fellowship, finally alighting on Sam with a queer gaze that made her fidget. "Eleven stand before me, and yet nine set out from Rivendell. Tell me, who are these young women who stand amid your company?"

"These are young travelers we found wandering in the wilderness," Aragorn spoke up. "Their names are Amy Ricker, Samantha Browning, and Elizabeth McKenzie. They have suffered much and been through many toils to reach your fair city."

Sam felt the most curious sensation sweep over her as she stared at the blonde woman. Their eyes connected for the barest moment, but she felt an alien presence inside her brain. _Samantha, I have waited long for you to arrive. Much rests on your shoulders, you must stay strong for your friends. _Sam almost thought, "What do you mean by that, lady?" but thought better of it at the last minute.

Pins and needled flooded Amy's system, and she stiffened involuntarily against Legolas's hard chest. Her green eyes flickered open, and they met with the blonde woman's. Her jaw went slack as she took in the amazing beauty, the flawless skin, and those deep, penetrating eyes. A weird feeling, almost as though a separate set of thoughts had entered her mind, took over. _Amy, you must stand strong. Your hesitation will be your downfall and your jubilation. You have more courage than you think_.

Lizzie resisted her mind invasion, mostly because she remembered the scene from the movie. But Galadriel's thoughts flowed over her like a pull of warm water. _Elizabeth, you must not take your friendship lightly. Your relationships with Samantha and Boromir are much more serious than you think_.

Each of the three girls wondered privately what it had meant.

09

Amy felt something cool and damp patting her forehead, a warm hand on her inner wrist, another resting on her hip. There was a slight ripping noise, and she felt cold air brush against her ribs, nipping the shallow wounds that decorated her stomach. Involuntarily she shifted and whimpered a little, unwilling to open her eyes. A sweet word, firm but caring, spoken in a language that sounded almost musical. More ripping noises, and soon she shivered, her belly and chest exposed to the brisk night air. One eye cracked open, and she spotted a young woman kneeling at her waist, the tattered, soiled, stained orange tee shirt that Amy had donned so long ago lay in tatters at her feet. A roll of clean white strips, faded with age but still serviceable, were being wrapped around her torso and lower legs. "Lay still," the elleth said softly. "Your wounds are not serious, but you need rest. Sleep now."

Amy closed her bloodshot eyes once more and fell asleep, her body moving to sleep's natural rhythm. Dreams clouded her mind, and she dreamed of monsters and trolls and cats and handsome blonde elves. When she awoke, hours later, she remembered none of them.


	13. That Mirror Really Sucks

**A/N: What is up with you guys? First you review, then you don't, then you do…Okay, let's establish a rule. If you like it, review. Simple as that. If you don't like it, review or send me a PM so I can fix it. If you flame, you will be minced to pieces and fed to a rabid llama. Simple as that. :D **

**No matter how it works out, REVIEW!**

**Warning: Sad, sad, sad.**

She watched Amy as she slept, the redhead's curls hardly stirring as her chest rose and fell hypnotically. Earlier that evening, Amy had been thrashing and whimpering, crying out occasionally as nightmares plagued her fevered dreams. It had taken two potions to get her to calm down, and now she was sleeping peacefully. Mechanically, Sam reached out and dipped the rag into the cool water, wringing it out. The patter of droplets against the water and the sputtering of the candles were the only noises in the silent room, and Sam leaned forward. Amy didn't even twitch when Sam laid the strip of wet cloth carefully on her forehead, allowing the wet bandage to streak her dark red hair and cheeks with damp stripes. Sam put a finger against Amy's cheek and winced; her fever had not broken, and she was burning up. She took the cloth off and dipped it back in the water, fighting the urge to growl at the injustice of it all. Cautiously, she lifted Amy's tunic and examined the bandages; they were still clean and fresh. The wounds were not dangerous, but the healers had stressed cleanliness. Sam had changed them every hour. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes tiredly. The Lothlorien elves had fed them until they threatened to burst, and Sam had already bathed and changed. It had been a sinfully luxurious feeling to bury herself in a wooden tub of hot water, easing away the caked filth, dried blood, and various cuts and bruises. Lizzie had managed to steal a razor from someone - Sam didn't want to know where she got it - and the two of them had shaved their legs. Sam was now dressed in a baggy tunic that was dyed some perfectly hideous shade of purple. The tunic went down nearly to her knees, and the visible leggings were black. A belt had been fastened at her waist, the small belt buckle intricately wrought with twisting silver branches.

Amy shifted in her sleep, lips parting in her red face. Sam reached out and soothed her, murmuring a few hoarse words in the stillness of the night. She heard the door creak open, but didn't turn. No doubt it was one of the healers come to check on her. To her surprise, she heard Legolas's familiar, silken voice whispering in the room. "You should sleep." He approached her and crouched down by Amy's bed. Sam sank her face into her hands, digging her nails into her thick, shaggy brown hair.

"I can't," Sam said, her voice acquiring a dull rasp from lack of rest. "I want to make sure she's okay." Sam took the cloth from the water and wrung it out again, but to her surprise, Legolas took the cloth from her and laid it over Amy's forehead. There was something about the way he tucked a strand of red hair away from her face, something about the manner he smoothed the wet cloth over her forehead that rose danger signals in Sam's mind. "Why did you come?" she asked, feeling slightly more awake now that she had something to be suspicious of. Legolas stood up and slipped out of his bow and arrows, laying the neatly next to Amy's bed. The same followed for his White Knives, and his boot daggers. When he was weaponless, he settled himself against the floor cross legged, and kept his blue eyes on the floor.

"You need your sleep, and the rest of the Fellowship is already asleep. I do not sleep well in strange places, so I decided to wait near Amy, to see if she awakens." he answered. Sam's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. But it was too late - or by now, too early - for her to be suspicious for long, and Legolas sounded perfectly honest and candid when he answered her. So Sam got to her feet, stretching long-developed aches and kinks, popping her back and rolling her shoulders.

"If she wakes up, call me," Sam said, as a redeemer. "I'm going to explore."

"Be careful," Legolas warned, not taking his eyes off of Amy's slumbering form, "This is a large city. I have no desire for you to be lost in a strange place."

"I'll be fine. Take a chill pill," Sam said, and went outside. Legolas pulled the covers closer to Amy's slender figure, tucking them about her carefully. He removed the cloth and dipped it into the water again, patting her forehead with the wet rag.

"Sleep, _melamin_."

09

Lothlorien was beautiful place at night. She heard the doleful sounds of singing, an etheral, unearthly beauty that hummed low in the ground and reached to the highest heavens. The silver trees were dark stripes against the blinding light of the soft gleam of the moon, which bathed everything in light. Sam glanced upwards, looking at the pockmarked moon that was perfectly round and full beaming down at her. She threaded her way into the shadows, carefully hiding her tall, willowy frame in the dark places that none could see. She skipped lightly from shadow to shadow, stepping over small streams or wading across the larger ones. White flowers in full bloom showed their smiling faces to Sam and the moon, grinning brightly at the full moon. Green grass was turned a delicate silver, laden thickly with dew, each green spike bearing an exquisite dewdrop that sparkled in the moonlight. By the time Sam crossed two meadows, her leggings and boots were completely soaked. She heard the rushing of a river, and, impulsively, scrambled down a low slope to reach it. The river was small, more of a stream really, but beautiful all the same. It twisted and gurgled around mossy boulders, fuzzy moss creeping into the rushes and carpeting the grounds. Across the bank, less than five feet away, was a sight to behold.

A buck, his horns tipped with at least five majestic points, stood magnificently on his feet, wide hooves planted firmly on the mossy bank. His sides and flanks were milky silver, and a stripe of pure white ran from his chin to his belly, broadening along his chest. Liquid dark eyes regarded Sam regally, disdainfully, as he looked down his long nose. Tiny whiskers were dripping with liquid from his recent drink, and Sam froze. The buck seemed to cast a light, rather than a shade, and he was _huge_. Sturdy legs, slim yet lithe, melted into powerful hindquarters and a strong back, dissolving into a thick neck. The neck arched, and he turned, exposing his back to Sam, who was still standing rock still. The buck slipped through the shadows, much as Sam had done, and within moments had completely disappeared into the fabric of the night. For a long moment, Sam stayed absolutely still. Then a long, shuddering breath broke from her mouth, and she realized she had been holding her breath. Slowly, she crossed the stream, wondering whether she should follow the deer or run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. In the end, she decided to do neither, and followed the small stream upstream until she reached a little clearing.

Three steps had been carefully inlaid with stone, leading beneath haggard tree roots. She went around the tree, following the small path, and found herself standing near the river, on a little green grassy spot. In the center of the clearing, a large stone basin filled with water. The water reflected the velvet sky above it, the twinkling stars that shone hard and clear in the autumn night. She approached it warily; after her run-in with the buck, things had taken on a surreal, dreamlike quality. Sam had almost reached the basin and was trying to decipher the runes that were inscribed around it when she nearly jumped out of her skin. Galadriel was standing silently against the tree, her hands folded into her long sleeves, flaxen curls tumbling over her shoulders. Sam jumped backwards, slamming a hand to her chest. "Holy shit, lady, don't scare me like that!" she snapped, her wildly racing heart fighting its way back to her chest.

Galadriel didn't apologize, but there was a momentary flicker of sympathy in her striking cobalt eyes. Then she circled the basin slowly, running one delicate finger along the rim. "Many men have journeyed far to look into my mirror," she said softly, her voice nearly a whisper. "And already, our Ring-Bearer had looked and seen many horrors. Men had looked into my mirror and cried out from the terrors that may befall them if they do not change their ways." She looked up, cerulean eyes locking with dark brown. "Do you wish to look into my mirror, warrior?"

Sam took a step backwards. The whole crying-out-in-terror thing didn't appeal to her much. "I'm not a warrior," she said, dragging a hand across her mouth. Galadriel never hesitated in her circling, still running one finger along the uneven grooves in the rim and the intricate symbols.

"You are. You fought bravely in the battle of Moria, you suffered along with the Fellowship. You shed tears, blood, and sweat to reach where you are now. And you still have a long way to go." Galadriel said, and her hand stroked Sam's once, lightly, feather-light, in a pitying gesture. Sam yanked her hand away, her breath coming rapidly and shallowly.

"Wait a second," she said, panic bubbling in her core. "The Fellowship…I mean, I'm not part of the Fellowship. They're just bringing me and my friends here, so we can live here. They're going on without us."

_Look into my mirror, and see what is to see_.

Sam obeyed, feeling the last tendrils of Galadriel's voice echo in her head before leaning over the glassy surface of the basin. The surface rippled, as though a stone had been thrown into it, and images began swimming up to the surface. Colors warped and twisted, sliding in and out of focus, until they settled into solid shapes.

_Amy, dressed in battle armor, two knives on her hips, clinging to Legolas. She was sobbing into his chest, and Legolas was burying his face in her neck. Hate and love swirled around them, Technicolor spirals that floated in the air, as tangible as a scent…_

_Sam, fighting for her life, back to back with Haldir, his silver hair fanning out. A Uruk brings his axe down, intent on burying it in Haldir's back. Sam deflects the blow with her shoulder, and she cries out, pain driving her to her knees…_

_Lizzie and Sam, locked in a battle, dressed in full armor, their swords flashing in the dim light. Around them, a battle rages, the Witch-King no more than a stone's throw away. Eowyn's piercing shriek cuts through the air the second Sam levels her blade at Lizzie's unprotected neck…_

_Lizzie, lounging on a balcony, her golden hair flowing freely down her back and shoulders, a black dress clinging to her curves, her shoulders and back exposed to the chill. She is both terrible and beautiful, dark and light, her blue eyes triumphant and fiery with a hidden light. Behind her, a man with a long white beard and a staff smiles, the two of them examining a mighty horde of Uruks and Orcs…_

_Amy, screaming in anguish as an arrow buries itself in her chest, toppling over the wall…_

_Sam, bleeding from a dozen open wounds, helmet dented and forgotten, wielding a broken lance, throws herself upon a howling mob of Uruks, a battle cry tearing from her lips…_

_Lizzie, smiling, laughing, pointing, an ornate sapphire ring on her finger…_

"NO! NO MORE!"

Sam fell away from the basin, scrambling away from the shallow stone dish as if cobras were hissing on the surface of the water. Terror was written all over her face, and her cheeks were sparkling with tears. "No!" She cried, looking up at Galadriel. "That can't be true. Please, it's not true. Don't make me look again, please." She was begging, and she knew it. Her friends, dead? Herself, dying on the battlefield? Lizzie, betraying them? She looked up and saw Galadriel was also crying, a tear streaking down her beautiful porcelain face. Sam got to her feet, scuffing the tears from her eyes. Without another word, she bolted off into the darkness, trying to bear the crushing weight of what she had just seen.

09


	14. We Will Never Understand Sam

**A/N: Okay, I don't normally do this…But this chapter has a Music Track. When you get to the gray line (I call them separators), go to YouTube and find "I'll Make A Man Out Of You", from Mulan. It's a Disney song, but I think it suits this chapter very well. :D **

**Oh yeah… REVIW, and tell me what you think of Amy/Legolas and Sam/Haldir! And Lizzie, if you like her. (I don't.)**

A shaft of sunlight pierced through the stained glass window, casting fabulous colors dancing across the thin straw cot. The tangle of red hair stirred feebly, curls rustling and blankets moving, and then one pale green eye opened halfway. Images slid in and out of each other, and she coughed groggily. The cough ripped up her throat and made her moan, sinking back into the piles of pillows which the elves had so thoughtfully supplied. Her skin no longer felt red and swollen, but her nose was running and her head was pounding. Tiredly, she buried her head under a pillow and groaned. This was a terrible way to wake up. In the corner of the room, she heard something stirring, and she froze. Too many encounters with Orcs had wearied her, made her coarser and more frightened. But the refreshing scent of pine needles and mossy forests greeted her nose, and she poked her tousled head out sleepily. Legolas was lounging on a small stool, his weapons at his side. His cerulean eyes were tired, but happy, and he gave her a one-sided grin. "Good morning, small one," he said softly. Amy buried her head underneath the pillow again with a moan. "Come now, is that any way to greet this beautiful morning?"

"Says who," Amy croaked, her throat very dry. "It's too early." She rolled over on her back but kept her eyes closed, rumpling her hair through her hands as she stretched. Legolas slid a dipper into the water crock near the door and brought the ladle to her lips. Eagerly, she swallowed the tepid water and felt slightly better. At least it didn't feel like she had a cat clawing at her throat. "Where's Sam and Lizzie?" she asked, wanting to see a familiar face. Legolas looked up, worry etched on his brow.

"Samantha has not been seen since last night. She departed from here after staying near you nearly all afternoon and well into the night. Lady Galadriel says she was greatly disturbed by images she saw in Galadriel's mirror." Legolas answered. Amy sat up, alarmed.

"She's gone? What mirror? Where is she?" Amy cried, trying to swing her legs out of bed. Before her feet could touch the floor, Legolas had stood up and tucked the sheets firmly back into the pallet. Amy wriggled, trying to escape her bonds of linen.

"You need your rest. Samantha will be found, I am sure of it. There is no need to upset yourself over trivial matters. As for the mirror, I am told it is a legendary mirror bequeathed with magic. Men have looked into the mirror and seen their futures, and others have seen prophecies. I am not sure what Samantha saw when she looked in the mirror, but it must have been quite shocking." Legolas said, keeping Amy pinned to the bed with one of his hands. A detached part of Amy's mind marveled at how large his hand was; calloused, strong, muscled. But her mind was on other matters, namely, her friends.

"We have to go look for her! Sam could be anywhere!" Amy said, wriggling helplessly. Whatever Sam had seen in that mirror had scared her, and it took a lot to scare Sam. Amy felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. What if Sam had looked in the mirror and seen her own death? Gandalf's death and nearly being killed in Moria had been as close to death as Amy wanted to allow; she had flirted with the edge, and now she wanted to backpedal as quickly as she could away from the crater.

Legolas opened his mouth to argue, when the door flew open. Sam burst in, her shaggy brown hair tousled and messy - as usual - and dressed in new clothes. She had that relaxed grin on her face that Amy knew very well; it was the mask Sam always assumed whenever Amy asked about her mother. She was hiding something, trying to make it appear as though she had everything in control. Sam bounded over to the bed and landed on her knees, skidding the last few inches. "Hey, you're awake!" Sam said, sounding pleased, as if she had snapped her fingers and Amy had awoken. Sam threw a mistrustful glance at Legolas. "I told you to get me when she woke up."

"I would have, if you had been anywhere to be found." Legolas snapped. "Aragorn and Boromir have been searching since dawn. You have worried the Hobbits sick, they thought you had been eaten by some kind of wild animal. Where have you been half the night?"

"I told you, I went exploring," Sam said, irked beyond belief that his prissy elf was trying to chide her. "And don't scold me, Princey-boy. I went around in the meadows and bumped into Galadriel. We visited for a bit, and then I went to the sparring grounds. There wasn't anyone there, so I went to sleep."

"You slept on the training grounds?" Amy asked hoarsely, settling back into the pillows. "Were you able to train?" Now that Sam was here, Amy would have to wait until Legolas left. Once that happened, she was pretty sure she could get Sam to tell her what she had seen in the mirror.

"No, silly," Sam said. "There wasn't anyone there. So I slept on one of the benches. The stars here are beautiful. How about you, how was your rest? Do you want something to eat?"

"I slept okay," Amy answered. Then she turned to Legolas. "But I am kinda hungry. Could you go get me something to eat?" Legolas nodded once and departed, making no noise on the polished hardwood floors. Amy waited a few seconds until she was sure he wasn't listening, and then began. "So...what else did you do last night?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I told you what I did," she said slowly. "Why?" Amy shrugged nonchalantly, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Oh, nothing. Just curious, that's all. What did you and Galadriel talk about?" Amy asked trying to seem casual. Sam knew her too well, though, and a frown slashed across her lips.

"Nothing. We didn't talk much." Sam said brusquely. "I'm going to the training grounds to train. Legolas should be back soon with your food."

Amy caught Sam's sleeve as she tried to leave. "Please, Sam, what did you see?" Amy pleaded. "Was it awful?"

"I saw you dying!" Sam barked, brown eyes glittering angrily. "I saw me fighting alone, and..." She couldn't do it. Couldn't voice the betrayal of Lizzie, couldn't tell Amy that their best friend was going to go against them. So instead she turned away and yanked her sleeve out of Amy's hand. "Go back to sleep." Was all Sam said.

And she left.

09

The training grounds were a large, flat oval of packed dirt. Trees hemmed them in, and in the very center was a low stone slab. A thick carpet of grass lined the arena, and several benches were placed sporadically around it in a jagged circle. Several young elleths were sitting prettily on the benches, cooing delights for the sparring soldiers to hear. Sam growled internally at the breathtaking beauty of the elleths, and her hand dropped to her side, unconsciously looking for her broken axe. Girls like that always irked her, and Sam had to take several deep breaths in order to restrain herself from charging over there and slapping some sense into their porcelain faces. Instead, she turned her attention to the arena, where at least a dozen ellons were sparring heatedly. There was a bark of a command in Elvish, something Sam didn't understand, and immediately the sparring couples broke apart and lined up carefully. Sam's eyes slitted when she recognized Haldir, his long silver hair plaited in traditional Elvish warrior braids that pulled the top half of his hair away from his face. He continued issuing orders in Elvish, the sweet language dipping and swelling over vowels and words, but there was an undeniable harsh bite to his words. He appeared to be a drill sergeant issuing orders. Sam stepped onto the field, and the crunch of the sand alerted Haldir and the rest of his men. He turned around, light armor covering his broad chest, his sword sheathed at his side. His cold silver eyes held mild surprise and contempt, and Sam felt anger bubbling in her.

"The benches are over there," he said pointedly, jerking his chin towards where the elleths were sitting. Sam's lips tightened, and she clenched her fists. Her feet were a shoulder width apart.

"I'm not here to sit," she snapped. "I'm here to fight. I want to train. Got a problem with that, buster?"

Haldir's eyebrows raised. "Stay to the edges," he warned, a frosty note in his voice. "I am training my recruits. You may wait for your sparring partner on the benches." He turned away from her, and Sam had to raise her voice and capture the attention of the entire arena to get his attention.

"You don't get it!" she growled. "I want to spar _with you_. I don't have a sparring partner." Haldir wheeled around and strode over to her. As he approached, Sam realized with something like cool apprehension that he was very tall, very broad, and _very_ handsome.

"I am training my soldiers," he said. "You are a guest of Lothlorien, and a woman. If you wish, you may observe. That is all."

"Then think of it as a personal favor," Sam retorted. "I'm either going to march over there and start smacking some major Elvish butt or you're going to train me. And if you don't think that a _woman_ can kick your sorry, pretty-boy ass, then you got another thing coming, buddy."

Haldir looked appalled, then furious, as the willowy brunette dared to use such a disrespectful tone. If she had been one of his men, he would have struck her across the jaw and given her a hideous torture to endure, such as sparring with him personally. But she wasn't one of his men, which was the exact reason he couldn't allow her to spar with them. His jaw worked furiously. "Fine," he spat, as though the words tasted bitter. "You will spar with me. Weapons are at the northern end of the field."

Sam bounded off, exhilaration singing through her veins that she had been allowed to fight. The weapons rack was rather flimsy considering it was supporting gigantic weapons, and she browsed for the briefest moment before finding what she wanted. Hefting the weapons in her hands, she tossed them several times, gauging the weight, and then sliced through the air experimentally. Buckling the sheaths onto her belt and sheathing the twin poniards, she went back over to the ellons who were all gaping at her. Haldir raised his eyebrows at her unusual choice, and then a smirk settled over his face. He would make an example of her for his men, to make his men fear him. Woman or not, he did not tolerate the slightest disrespect. "Samantha," he purred. "Approach me and assume a defensive position."

She had never had any 'official' training, but she had watched for hours with a wounded arm, watched and studied her friends learning to spar. So she copied Boromir's stance, the one he used most often, and twirled her poniards. Haldir smirked. He circled her several times, and then he kicked her leg to the left slightly, adjusting her position. She locked her jaw. "Fair enough," he said, reluctantly bestowing his approval. He stood opposite her and unsheathed his sword. "And now, defend yourself."

He struck with no warning, his blade cutting through the air with a slight whistling noise. Sam crossed her blades, blocking the blow, and the impact send shockwaves jutting through her skeletal system. She twisted her knives, unlocking them from the vice grip she had used to keep his blade from reaching her neck, and advanced a single step. He feinted to the left, then slashed downwards from the right, and again it took all she could do just to parry him. Pain lanced up her arms as she ached from holding the weapons, but she snarled and pressed forward. She had an audience now, and the elleths on the benches had stopped cooing and started paying attention. Their blades battered each others, Haldir always on the offensive and Sam always on the defensive. It was taking every shred of energy to just stop his blows before they reached her skin, and she had yet to make a single offensive move of her own. Haldir had a smirk on his face.

He was _toying_ with her.

Unexpectedly, she allowed a blow to fall on her ribs. It winded her, and she doubled over. Haldir's instincts kicked in, and he closed the gap between them, slight concern in his eyes. Sam's face was a mask of pain...until he was within striking distance. She rammed a knee in the fork of his legs, causing him to double over himself, and pounced on him knees first. She pinned him to the ground, poinards at his throat, face a snarl. Haldir's face was still white. That was the lowest, cheapest, nastiest trick in the book, and it had been used on him by a _woman_! He flipped the two of them over, keeping her in place with an elbow, and languidly unearthed a boot blade, then pressed it against her throat. There was a long, frozen second, as Sam's chest heaved and her eyes glittered madly. Haldir examined her eyes closely; they were dark brown orbs of deepest chocolate, alive and dancing with rage and shame. He had never seen such eyes.

He let her up, giving her a hand - which she refused. She dusted herself off, a flame of a blush skimming her cheeks. She had been bested. She had lost. And then, cracking over the field, was applause. The dozen ellons and the handful of elleths were applauding her! She looked up, eyes narrowing with suspicion, and then relaxed. Haldir raised a hand, and utter silence reigned. "Unorthodox." was his single-word review of Sam's spar. He turned from his dismissively, and began speaking Elvish to his men.

A burn of anger simmered in her chest. She had just had a grueling spar with him, and it was nothing more than a blip in her day. Sheathing her poniards, she bent down and picked up a rock. It was a good-sized rock, about the size of her palm, and she flung it with all her might at Haldir. It struck him between the shoulders, and an involuntary yelp of surprise tore from his lips. He spun around, silver eyes burning. "What -" he began, but he got no further.

"Listen up, pretty boy," Sam barked, her words echoing around the sparring grounds. "You can insult me all you want; I can take that. But don't you ever, _ever, _dismiss me! Watch your back, asshole!" She spun around and surged off, running away from her problems for the second time in as many days.

There was a long silence, and then one of the young ellons broke it. "She's in love with you," he remarked. Haldir turned to him, incredulity written on his features.

"Do you not have ears? She just threatened to kill me!" he said. The young ellon shrugged.

"It is some women's way of bestowing affection. My Estella threatens to kill me every morning." the ellon offered. Haldir shook his head disgustedly.

He would never understand some women.


	15. See Yah, Lothlorien!

**A/N: You really have to forgive me. We got slammed by the hurricane this past week, and we've been out of power and clearing tree branches out of our living room. But our power is **_**back**_**, thank goodness, and we have new windows! **

Four silver boats bobbed gently in the water, their smooth flaxen tethers tied firmly to sharp, sturdy branches. Small ponies, laden with food, were ferrying fresh clothes, full waterskins, and havversacks of _lembas_ bread, or waybread as Aragorn called it. Amy was sitting tiredly on a log, her thick red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, with only limited success of keeping it away from her face. She was constantly blowing the thick curls out of her eyes with an annoyed look on her face. After recovering from her brief stint in the infirmary, she emerged tired and pale, but otherwise right as rain. The elves who had tended to her had given her fresh clothes, and they were similar to Sam's; a tunic that went almost to her knees - although hers was sleeveless - and dark leggings. She stretched, popping the ligaments in her shoulders and back, then yawned. Most of the morning had been spent saying goodbye to Galadriel and Celeborn, exchanging hugs and well-wishes. Sam nearly had a meltdown when confronted with the cool, handsome Marchwarden; the two of them left growling obscenities under their breath, wishing they each had a sword in their fist. Amy watched the two of them clash with amusement, but said nothing; she knew better than to interfere with Sam's relationships. Lizzie, on the other hand, immediately peppered Sam with questions about "that tall silver-haired dude", making Boromir look very upset. Sam had gritted her teeth and said nothing except that Haldir was "a sexist jerk". That was enough to keep Lizzie quiet and make Amy roll her eyes.

The Fellowship dragged their feet as they left, unwilling to leave the beautiful splendor of Lothlorien and the safe comforts. Galadriel was there, her stunning features creating a silvery glow around her. Her cerulean eyes swept over the Fellowship, and she approached Aragorn, her gorgeous eyes alive and dancing. Out of nowhere, she presented an intricately carved sheath for his sword. The gold sheath shimmered in the sunlight, winking brightly, the silver embroidery adding minute decorations of swirling trees and spirals. "For you, Good Aragorn," Galadriel said softly. "May it always keep Anduril sharp." she said. Aragorn bowed.

"Thank you, my lady," he murmured, unbuckling his swordbelt to slip the amazing sheath along it. He couldn't resist swinging his sword several times, flipping it and watching the blade gleam. Galadriel took a small item out of her sleeve, and Amy gasped as the brooch caught the light. A brilliant green stone, facets twinkling and sending sparks of green light across every surface. It was set wonderfully in a twisting silver brooch, and Galadriel pinned it onto Aragorn's cloak with great solemnity. With no further words, she moved onto Merry and Pippin, who were shuffling their feet and looking bashful.

"My dearest Hobbits. These belts are for you. May they keep you safe and remind you of the merry times you spent here in Lothlorien." she said sweetly. Merry and Pippin looked agog at the two beautiful belts, the silver thread rippling among the stout leather. A similar belt, with gold embroidery, was given to Boromir, who accepted it with a slight flush. A small wooden box, filled with dirt, was given to Samwise, who did a little dance when Galadriel told him what it would do. "Scatter this wherever you see something dead, Samwise. Your cheerful spirit and these seeds will burst into bloom." She smiled prettily at Sam, who beamed. Galadriel gave a smooth, honey-colored bow to Legolas, along with a quiver full of arrows, flighted with blue feathers. The elf looked as though he were about to pass out as he strung his new bow and sighted along the arrow. The weapon was perfectly balanced, and light as goose down.

Galadriel knelt down in front of Frodo, whose dark eyes were watching his friend's with a mixture of grief and love. She whispered something in his ear, stirring his curls, and pressed something into his hand. Sam strained to see what it was; there was a brief flash of light as whatever object Galadriel had given him winked in the sun, and then Frodo had tucked it into his pocket. Galadriel's quiet blue eyes turned to Sam first, who was undoubtedly the leader of the three girls. Galadriel's eyes roamed over Sam's willowy frame, striking profile and chocolate eyes, flecked with gold. Galadriel turned to Celeborn, who handed a peculiar looking weapon to his wife. Galadriel presented it to Sam. "This is a double edged dirk, a weapon that would suit you well. It is a sophisticated weapon that will take a great deal of skill to use. Ultimately I believe it will serve you well in battle." she said. Sam hefted the weapon, gauging it silently. Her dark eyes narrowed with satisfaction, and a little grin flickered on her face. She picked it up in both hands, twirling it experimentally. It distantly resembled a short sword, roughly the length of Sam's forearm with two very sharp edges. She twisted it, eyes running up and down its length.

"Awesome," she muttered. Her eyes glanced up, and Galadriel saw a rueful kind of forgiveness. "Thanks." Sam said briskly, still examining her weapon. Galadriel moved on to Lizzie, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot. Lizzie passed a blonde lock of hair over her shoulder, twirling one lock around her finger and batting her eyelashes. Inwardly, she was fuming. How dare this elf prance over here with her flawless skin and her deep blue eyes? Was she _trying_ to imitate Lizzie's style, or something? There was a frostiness in Galadriel's eyes when she appraised Lizzie that the blonde didn't exactly like. Galadriel took something out of a hidden pocket in her elaborate gown.

"Elizabeth, take this so you may remember what is most important," Galadriel said. She passed something small to Lizzie, who turned it over in her hand. It was a small ring of hammered bronze, the surface carefully scalloped with tiny ridges and grooves. It was very simple, with no stone or design, but as Lizzie turned it, the bronze color caught the sunlight. It turned a bewildering green, then blue, as the faceted surface dazzled and shifted in the glaring sunlight. Sam whistled under her breath, but Lizzie tried her best to appear nonchalant.

"Pretty," she admitted. Was it bronze, then? How could bronze turn so many colors? "Thanks." Her voice was flatter and sharper than she intended, and for a split second she wondered what was coming over her. It had been stealing over her for weeks, like an infection or a disease; she was almost always waspish and crabby. She unconsciously flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. Being crabby was Sam's job. She was supposed to be beautiful and stunning, Amy was supposed to be nice and weird, and Sam was supposed to be...well, Sam. Lizzie's attention was turned to Amy as Galadriel moved along to the redhead. Galadriel cupped Amy's chin in her cool hands and gazed gently into Amy's worried green eyes.

"Little Amy," she whispered. "When you use this, help will come of some sort. Do not forget the beasts of the field and the birds of the air; they will lend you courage." Galadriel took a necklace, the chain fine as a strand of silk, and fastened it around Amy's neck. Hanging in the fork of the chain was a tiny seashell, cleverly worked into a sort of whistle. The chain looked thin and fragile, but as Amy tugged on it she marveled at its strength. A kind of comprehension dawned slowly over Amy as she met Galadriel's eyes. Galadriel was telling her to be strong and courageous; Amy privately thought that people couldn't go against their nature.

"Thank you," she responded, giving Galadriel a little smile. "It's beautiful." She fingered the shell again and stroked it gently. Amy moved closer to Sam, who was sliding her knife into her belt sheath, and grinned. Sam shot her trademark Cheshire-cat grin - the unfurling, lazy kind that she only used when she was _very_ pleased - and allowed the knife to reflect a bit of sunlight and dance it across the tree tops. Galadriel was talking in a low voice to Aragorn, who was evidently thanking the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel for all their hospitality.

Amy took one last look at the silvery woods of Lothlorien and the stunning beauty of the Lord and Lady, then followed the Fellowship to the water's edge. Her new leather boots - the color of dull copper - crunched in the gritty sand, and Aragorn began organizing them. Amy couldn't help but think that he took the leadership position very well; he was going to make an excellent king. "There needs to be one proficient rower per boat," he said firmly. "I shall captain a boat, along with Legolas and Boromir. Lady Samantha and Lady Amy can ride with Legolas; Merry, Pippin and Elizabeth may ride with Boromir. Gimli, the Ringbearer, and Sam, shall ride in my boat. The fourth boat shall hold supplies. We will not stop until the moon has risen fully; I wish to continue down the river as swiftly as possible. Are there any questions?" There was a general silence. Aragorn clapped his hands. "Then, let us be off!"

There was the usual last-minute scramble for small items, but it was really a longing to stay as long as possible in the safety of Lothlorien. Sam and Amy tumbled into the boat, settling themselves in the smoothly carved bow, making themselves as comfortable as possible in the narrow confines. Legolas adjusted the fine oars and flexed his arms, steadying himself for a long day of rowing. Amy touched her seashell necklace again, making sure it was there, and then relaxed next to Sam. Sam gave her another catlike grin and closed her eyes. With one powerful stroke, Legolas sent them shooting into the swift current, the waves curling liquid edges around the boat and propelling it downstream. They drifted in relative silence down the river, the only noises coming from the gentle lapping of the water against the smooth sides of the boat. Amy opened one eye and gazed at the river, stroking the light-soaked surface with her fingertips. The drag of the water tugged at her fingers with a fluid caress, trying to pull them with the river. The crests of the wavelets were dappled with sunlight from the golden leaves, and Amy felt a little contented smile flirt with the edges of her mouth. She was safe, warm, and well fed, next to one of her best friends and a very handsome elf. Life was good.

Her serene thoughts were interrupted by a huge gasp from Sam's end of the boat. "Oh my God!" she whispered, still unwilling to break the glassy dome of silence that had settled over the group. Sam pointed, her finger rigid, to the opposite bank. "Look!" she said, her voice awed and rough. "Isn't he beautiful?" Amy looked, following Sam's finger, but all she could see was a blank inlet. The small space was fringed prettily with willows, and thick green moss carpeted the ground, but other than the scenery, Amy couldn't see what Sam was talking about. Amy's brow wrinkled.

"What?" she asked. Sam whacked her on the shoulder, her brown eyes never leaving the space.

"Don't play dumb. The stag. The silver one. Don't you see him?" Sam snapped, still pointing. Amy shook her head once. Sam closed her eyes once, then opened them again. The stag was still there, proud and dignified. His broad, massive chest was pure white in the hot sunlight, and his silver flanks gleamed with a glossy sheen. His horns, still sharp and finely pointed, stretched to the azure sky. His dark eyes, simultaneously haughty and wild, surveyed the Fellowship coldly. Then he dipped his nose, as if in farewell, and stalked gracefully through the bushes. Sam remained frozen, the echo of those dark eyes resonating in her mind. It was only until she was jerked back to earth by Amy did she stir. "You didn't see him?" Sam asked in disbelief. "But he was standing right there, in broad daylight!"

"Um, no, I didn't see him," Amy said, squinting at the place where Sam had been staring. "So you saw a silver stag?" Amy asked, trying not to sound skeptical. Sam wasn't prone to seeing things, but maybe she had eaten too much _lembas_ bread, or something. Sam sank back down in the boat, rubbing her eyes hard and blinking fiercely.

"Yes, I did. I _saw_ him." she said stubbornly. Legolas remained silent, watching Sam curiously. He, too, thought that Sam had been overtired; both he and Amy had stared hard at the spot, and seen nothing. Still, there were too many legends of prophecies and animals that linked together, so he turned to Sam.

"What did it look like?" he asked quietly, not wanting the others to overhear their conversation. Sam shrugged, trying to place the details in her mind. How could she explain the regality of the stag, the shining silver hindquarters, the dignified eyes that had pierced her so fully? She shook her head bemusedly.

"He was big," she began, then faltered. "Well, he might have been the usual size. I've never seen a buck before," she admitted. "But he was silvery white, kind of, and he had huge horns. Five points, I think, so he must have been big. And, well, he looked beautiful. He had a white chest, and..." she trailed off. She couldn't explain herself properly, and Amy was scrutinizing her.

"Sam, do you think you need some rest?" Amy asked timidly. "I mean, I didn't see it, and neither did Legolas..." She was cut off as Sam whacked her again on the arm.

"I'm not crazy," Sam insisted. "I've seen him once before too, just before I met with Galadriel. I hope nobody shoots him." She said, looking off into the distance. She was half-hoping that the buck would reappear and prove her right.

"Well, all right," Amy said kindly. "I'm going to sleep now. Wake me up if you see him again." Amy curled up in the bow of the boat, using her elbow as a pillow. The sun tucked a warm invisible blanket around her chin, and she felt herself beginning to drift off with the rocking of the boat. Somewhere ahead of them, one of the Hobbits began singing a sea shanty, and it acted as a lullaby. The musical notes of a bird twittering in the trees accompanied the strong tenor of Merry, and Amy soon felt herself slip into oblivion.

Legolas watched Amy sleep. She was pretty, really, when she was sleeping. Her face was relaxed and peaceful, not knotted with worry or fear as it usually was. The sun was igniting her red hair, highlighting the copper tinges that streaked the deep russet braid. Her lashes curled sweetly against her freckled, sun-blushed cheeks, and a few little curls were hanging in her eyes. Legolas had to look away after a moment. He had work to do, and two oars to manipulate around boulders and branches. There was no time to be studying a human when the weight of Middle Earth rested on his shoulders. But he couldn't resist stealing one last look at the slumbering girl, drinking in the detail of her relaxed body and burning it into his memory. Whatever happened, whatever became of this quest, he would always remember that. His mind shifted to other things, and soon he was carefully organizing the rest of the trip, wondering what would become of them. Somehow or other, his mind would always touch upon Amy, and he shoved the image of her sleeping away angrily. Middle Earth was depending on him to transport Frodo safely to Mount Doom and destroy the One Ring.

So why were his thoughts lingering on a slender redheaded human?


	16. Hakuna Matata! Among Other Things

**A/N: This is basically a nonsense chapter. If you don't like Taylor Swift, Disney quotes, and swimming, don't read it. I thought I would put in a silly chapter of the three girls having fun before I ended it. Oh yeah, did I tell you? The next chapter will be the last one of this book…I'll announce the next title to watch out for in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

"Cos when you're _fifteen_, and somebody tells you he loves you, _you're_ gonna believe _him_," Lizzie yowled at the sky.

"Shut _up_!" Sam screeched, splashing a handful of water at the blonde in the next boat. The wave fell woefully short, and failed epically in getting Lizzie to stop singing Taylor Swift songs. "You've been singing every single song for three hours! Can't you think of a different artist?" Sam complained, flopping back in the boat. She rubbed her eyes. "I don't even _like_ Taylor," she moaned. For a long moment, there was silence, no sound but the birds twittering in the trees. Sam relaxed slightly. The smooth, hard pull of Legolas rowing was soothing, and she saw he was trying to stifle a laugh. The river was calm, peaceful, and serene. A fish jumped lazily out of the water, landing with a small crested wave. Sam was just about to relax and poke Amy awake when...

"She's not a saint, she's not what you think, she's an actress, wooaahhooaa!" Lizzie yodeled. "She's better known for the things that she does on the mattress, woooaahooa!"

"ELIZABETH!"

There was a loud splash as a large rock was thrown.

"Hey! You got me wet!"

"It got you to stop singing, didn't it?"

Lizzie smiled wickedly. "Our song is the slam of screen doors, sneaking out late tapping on your window, talking on the phone an' you talk reeaall slow, 'cos it's late an' your momma don't know..."

Amy opened one eye, pinning Sam to the side of the boat with an annoyed glare. "Be quiet," the sleepy redhead mumbled, turning over and closing her eyes again. Sam settled for making rude gestures across the water to Lizzie, who flipped her hair and ignored her. Right now, when the sun was shining and the water was sparkling, the images in Galadriel's mirror seemed a million miles away. Even now, Sam was considering them perfectly ridiculous. Lizzie was fine; look at her, she was annoying everybody in sight. Except Boromir. Boromir seemed to think everything she did was adorable. Which was not really a surprise; Merry had come squeaking back to camp a few weeks ago saying he had seen Boromir and Lizzie kissing. Both of them staunchly denied this, but Merry swore on everything sacred (he swore twice on mushrooms) that he had seen them.

It was about midday when they tied all four boats together and began distributing rations. The river had slowed to a crawl, and Aragorn decided it was the perfect place to pause and have lunch. Pippin, who was as nimble as a mountain goat, scampered across the boats and began passing around _lembas_ bread to the three other boats. Sam shook Amy awake, and the redhead grumbled an oath. The smell of warm _lembas_ perked her up, and she reached for the loaf with only a minimum of growling. _Lembas_ was peculiar tasting bread, but very good. It had the texture of a dry pancake mixed with shortbread, the sweetness of a cookie, and the weight of a thick artisan loaf. Overall, it was very delicious, with a crunchy exterior and a buttery-smooth interior. Amy was still nibbling on hers when she noticed Sam stretching. The shaggy haired brunette eyed the water, then shrugged and stripped off her tunic. "Don't look," Sam announced.

Amy threw aside her bread. "No, Sam, don't!" Amy cried. Sam shimmied out of her leggings and kicked them aside. She eyed the glassy water eagerly, and rolled her eyes at Amy.

"For heaven's sake, Amy, I've got on decent underwear," Sam said exasperatedly. The Hobbits all cracked up, whooping with laughter. Amy's worried expression didn't fade.

"No, that's not what I mean! You're not supposed to go swimming until an hour after you've eaten. Something about food in your belly makes you sink." Amy said, wringing her hands.

"Don't worry. If I drown, you'll pull me out," Sam said, and jumped into the water.

It was so frigidly cold that Sam wondered why it hadn't stayed frozen up on a mountain somewhere. It drove the air from her lungs and she gasped for breath, lips turning blue and goose bumps spreading across her skin like a disease. When her breath had filled her lungs, she whooped and dived under water, opening her eyes in the icy water to see what was down there. Fat gold fish swam around her, minnows nibbled on her toes, and there was an old dead log filled with more fish. Smooth rocks dotted the landscape of the riverbed, which was at least fifteen feet straight down. Silver bubbles exploded from her mouth as Sam surfaced, shaking her hair like a wet down and spattering Lizzie with the spray. To retaliate, Lizzie shrieked the chorus of "Dear John" at the top of her lungs. Sam splashed the entire Fellowship, dousing Lizzie to the bone and causing Amy to squeal with surprise and laughter. It didn't take long before they were threatening Sam's life. "If you think I'm going down there to save you from drowning, you're off your rocker!" Amy shouted at Sam. Lizzie, taking the more direct approach, was throwing rocks the size of potatoes.

Sam backstroked lazily downstream, flexing her arms. Briefly, her mind flitted upon the silver-haired elf, and she felt a scowl break across her mouth. He had no right to snub her like that. She was glad she had kneed him. Looking back on it now, she wished she had added a little extra oomph to the knee jab. But those dark gray eyes were so penetrating. She flipped on her belly and submerged her face, hiding her growl underwater. So he had nice eyes. It didn't stop him from being a jerk. She pushed herself on top of a flat rock that was worn smooth by the constant pull of the water. The boats were a little ways behind her; she decided she would hop inside when they were level with the rock. She sunbathed for a moment, absorbing the chorus of birds in the trees, the blazing sunlight on her upturned face, the gentle ripple of the river. It was beautifully peaceful, absolutely quiet, and for an instant, Sam felt at home. It was a feeling she didn't often feel, considering she was usually a wanderer. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing the feeling to wash over her.

"Sam, c'mon!" Lizzie called. Sam snapped awake and launched herself back into the boat, scrambling inside and nearly capsizing them. Legolas laughed, keeping the boat stable, while Amy looked totally petrified, clinging like a wet cat to the side of the boat.

"Don't do that!" Amy whispered, nails digging into the hard wood. Sam grinned wolfishly, her Cheshire cat grin not quite so friendly. She rocked the boat hard, swinging it backwards and forwards.

"Don't do what?" she asked innocently. For an answer, Amy kicked out at Sam and sent her sprawling into the bottom of the boat. Amy growled at her playfully.

"We sounded like Shrek, y'know," Amy said. Sam laughed.

"Shrek, I'm lookin' down!" Sam called out. Lizzie, overhearing their conversation, joined in.

"Not the button! Not the gumdrop button!" Lizzie said in a high-pitched voice. She shrieked with laughter, tumbling over her seat.

"Men like him are in - short - supply?" Amy quoted, and the three of the girls dissolved again. The Fellowship had no idea what they were talking about, and a few of them glanced at the women worriedly. After a moment of joyful silence, Amy flashed a grin at Sam. "What's this one from? 'Would you like to stay for dinner? WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?'" Amy asked.

"Mulan!" Sam and Lizzie called out. Without missing a beat, the three girls burst into song as if they were on a Broadway play. "We must be swift as a coursing river, with all the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the moon!"

"Do you trust me?" Sam asked, and both Lizzie and Amy threw the answer back at her.

"Aladdin!"

"A whole new world..." They all warbled. "A dazzling place I never knew..."

"Betcha on land, they understand, bet they don't reprimand their daughters," Lizzie sang out.

"Ariel!"

"Under da sea, (under da sea), under da sea!"

"What do you want me to do? Dress in drag and do the hula?" Amy said with a grin. The girls shrieked simultaneously and roared out.

"Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase! Hakuna Matata, ain't no passing craze! It means no worries! For the rest of your daaaays!"

The girls were lost in a land of Disney, completely unaware that regiments of a hundred Uruks were pounding down the slopes so they could slaughter the Fellowship.


	17. Break Ups Are So Hard

**A/N: This is it, folks! The end of **_**Fellowship Of The Ring**_**. At the end of this chapter, I'll announce the title for **_**The Two Towers**_**. Enjoy reading this chapter (I didn't like writing it.) **

**WARNING: Sad, sad, sad. Character death.**

* * *

><p>Amy lay sprawled on the ground, buried underneath a heap of blankets. She was wet, tired, and very hungry. Samwise had been trying with limited success to make a fire, but the wood was too soggy and damp. She tossed herself over and closed her eyes again. Lizzie, after their water fight that afternoon, had begun acting strangely again. She had thrown a hissy fit after not being allowed to ride in the boat with Aragorn and Frodo. Amy wondered what was going on with her; she had been acting weird ever since they had left Moria. A rock the size of her thumb was digging into Amy's back, and she reached behind her to dig it out. Throwing it aside, she turned over again and was greeted with a welcome blaze of multicolored sparks. Samwise, the plump blonde Hobbit, was rocking on his heels, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Yes!" Amy said, sitting upright and holding her hands close to the small flames. Breathing on it carefully, Samwise added a handful of dry pine needles to the small fire. A tongue of flame licked up, devouring the brittle branches eagerly. The warmth was satisfying, and Amy watched sleepily as Sam built up the fire. It would take quite a while until the fire was hot enough for cooking, and even then there was only one gamy hare that Boromir had snared. Boromir, too, was acting oddly. He and Lizzie had been making curious excuses to accompany Frodo wherever he went. Amy had a nasty feeling in her stomach about it, but she passed it off to too much <em>lembas<em> bread.

Sam chewed on her thumbnail broodingly. There was a heavy tension in the air, a thickness that couldn't be attributed to humidity or oncoming rain. She glanced towards the sky, noting the hard, clear blue, and flicked her eyes back down. Amy was close to the fire, warming her hands on it as her head drooped lower and lower. Sam smiled fondly. For all of Amy's worry and bluster, she was still the baby of the group. Sam remembered when they were children; Amy had been the weak one, the one everyone played pranks on, and Sam always had to be the bully to make the other kids apologize. But now the positions had turned somewhat. Amy was the one defending Sam, and she didn't know why. Sam tossed a handful of moss into the flames and watched them lick around the crumbling leaves. For the first time, Sam worried about what would happen after everything was over. Would they go back home? _Could_ they go back home? She worried and chewed on her thumb, every so often glancing critically at the sky. The approaching feeling was still there, but no rain was forthcoming. So why was the back of her neck prickling so suddenly?

Lizzie waited deliberately, sitting a predetermined space away from Frodo. The young Hobbit was already suspicious of her, but Lizzie had a feeling things were coming to a head. The Ring was singing to her in a humming, sweet voice. It swung, exposed, on Frodo's neck as the Hobbit pawed it thoughtlessly. Lizzie felt her hands clamp to fists. His dirty hands, with the ragged nails, touching her Ring! Jealousy crackled over her like the spreading of a flame, and she itched to tear the chain off his neck. _Wait, wait_, the Ring told her soothingly. _Wait, wait_. Lizzie waited, like a panther taut to spring. She would get the Ring if it was the last thing she did. She would get it, and then she would wear it for all to see. They would all see and fear her. She would be the prettiest, most powerful person on the face of the earth, and they would all fear her beauty and wisdom. She was so deeply involved with this fantasy that she almost didn't hear Frodo get up quietly and pace off, his finger still hovering over the Ring. Lizzie shot to her feet in an instant, forcing a big smile as she looked at the Fellowship. "I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back," she announced. They all looked at her with a 'why-did-you-just-announce-that' look, and then she darted off.

That Ring would be hers if it killed her.

* * *

><p>Aragorn was sketching a design on the ground with a twig. He frowned at the dirt which he was using as an easel, and then added a few more squiggles. Legolas crouched next to him, and they studied the scrawling as though they were some cryptic text. Aragorn finally sighed and scraped a hand over his stubbled chin. "It would be best to approach Mordor from the North. If we hide the boats in the bushes, we could continue on foot in relative ease. Nightfall would be best to cross the lake, by my reckoning." he said, half to himself. Gimli tapped the ashes from his pipe and snorted, planting the pipe back in his cheek. He drew in a long breath for a moment, then expelled a plume of blue-gray smoke which was whipped away in the wind.<p>

"Crossing Emyn Muil won't be in 'relative ease', I can tell you that, laddie!" Gimli said gloomily. "They say 'tis an impassible maze of knife sharp rocks. And then, _by my reckoning_, we only have a stinking, festering swampland to cross! With women, no less!" Here he threw a look at Sam and Amy. Sam sneered at him. Aragorn cut in hastily, knowing Sam's hot temper and razor tongue.

"It will not be an easy road, Master Dwarf. I suggest that we all rest and recover our strength." Aragorn said firmly. Gimli sputtered a few indignant excuses, mostly things along the lines of 'My strength? Dwarves have more bloody strength than you do, laddie!' and other such things. Legolas glanced around, cerulean eyes growing darker with urgency as the forest crept in closer. A steady pressure, like the swell of a tide or the thump of a heartbeat, was increasing in his mind.

"Estel," he murmured in Elvish, not wanting Amy or Sam to panic. "We should leave." The Elvish was short, clipped and tight. Aragorn looked at him, brow furrowing. He shook his head once, eyes curious.

"Orcs patrol these eastern shores, Legolas," Aragorn said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Sam looked at the two of them bemusedly, wondering what they were saying in that beautiful language.

"Fie on the eastern shores, Estel!" Legolas said softly. "They do not bother me. No, the presence is here, now. Can you not feel it?" He waited, and then Aragorn's eyes widened. The two of them listened to the ebb and flow of evil surging towards them, the steady thrum of feet approaching. They got to their feet hastily as Merry came back, his arms full of wood. The little Hobbit struggled manfully with the logs, then let them fall near the fire. He put his hands on his knees, panting, and then looked over near where Amy had been sleeping.

"Where's Frodo?" he asked curiously. Aragorn's eyes shot to Boromir's shield, which lay forgotten propped against a tree. And then, Lizzie's abrupt departure. He exchanged a glance with Legolas, and the two of them took off into the woods.

* * *

><p>Lizzie panted as she ran, weaving through trees with feather light steps. Her blonde hair was tucked in her shirt, and her cheeks were rosy with power and exertion. A little grin, exposing a wicked smile of pearly white teeth, was spreading across her pouting lips. She could see him up ahead, shuffling slowly along, head bowed, shoulders bent. He was brooding. Lizzie hesitated, slowing herself. She would have to approach this diplomatically, conversationally, easily. He would give her the Ring. He was weary of it, and she was his friend. Wasn't she? She dismissed these thoughts. If he would not give her the Ring, she would take it. He was smaller and weaker than she - she towered over him - and she wouldn't hurt him. Well, maybe a little. She sprang forward, startling Frodo. He cried out a little, jumping backwards, his face chalky white. Lizzie beamed at him, the smile growing larger. "Hi!" she said perkily, giggling slightly. Frodo was still trying to catch his breath, eyes wild. "Oh, I'm sorry," Lizzie said, sympathy dripping from her words. "Did I frighten you?"<p>

"No ... no," Frodo said in a whisper. Then he turned on her abruptly. "Why do you seek me?"

"Oh, I just wanted to talk with you for a bit," Lizzie said smoothly. She felt the rippling waves increasing from the Ring. It was calling to her, begging her to just pounce on Frodo and tear the chain from his neck. But she fought her urges and continued up the path, using every effort to appear nonchalant. "Why are you out here in the middle of nowhere? Don't you wanna talk with your little friends?"

Frodo eyed her warily. "I needed solitude for a brief moment," he said under his breath. "Their talk of passageways, dragons, wizards...It frightens me. I do not belong here." He scuffed the dirt moodily with his big toe. Lizzie felt a cool surge of triumph.

"It's the Ring, isn't it." her voice was flatter than it had been, more tired, less excited. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I know it's hard." She laid a hand on his arm, and he flinched away. Her hand was cold as ice. But her blue eyes, clear as glass, were soft and warm. "Can I see it, just for a second?" she asked.

"I...don't think I should," Frodo said hesitantly, taking a step away. Those eyes did not seem quite so warm now. There was something bestial in them, a danger that was singing in his system. She advanced a single step, and now she was too close for comfort. Her fingers stretched out, stroking along his neck, those damp, cold fingers dropping lower and lower, searching for the fine chain that held the Ring. He jerked away angrily, taking off into the woods. Anger burned in Lizzie's chest, constricting bands of iron clamping down.

"You little brat!" she hissed between her teeth. She raced after him, pouncing on him and jerking him to the ground. Fingers scrabbled for dominance, and Lizzie locked her legs around his smaller ones. Frodo panicked, fingers groping desperately for the band of gold around his neck. His first finger slipped inside, and he vanished without a trace. "What!" Lizzie sat up, releasing Frodo. She scrubbed her eyes and glared around. "Come back here! Where did you go?" She shrieked at the forest. The only response was a twittering of birds. "I'll get you, you bastard!" Lizzie screamed. "Get back here!"

* * *

><p>Amy woke with a start as Legolas shook her awake. Her green eyes jumped open, and Legolas hauled her roughly to her feet. "Stay behind me," he growled, voice suddenly raspy and low. "Do not, under any circumstances, get in front of me. Stay with Samantha." He notched an arrow to his bow and whirled around, every muscle tense. Sam unsheathed her dagger, wielding in clumsily in one hand. Gimli shook his axe, stepping forward. Amy realized belatedly that she was the only one without a weapon. Legolas, having realized this at the same time, unsheathed his White Knives and pressed one into Amy's palm. "Let them come to you," he said urgently. "Do not go to them."<p>

What in the world is he talking about, Amy wondered. Then they rounded the bend and she knew.

Uruks were much larger than Orcs or Goblins. They were as tall as a man, broader even, with stringy black hair and jagged yellow fangs. They stood straight and tall, unlike the half-bent crawling gait like the Orcs. Thick black legs bled into a wide waist, barrel chest, and brawny arms. They gripped long scimitars in their fists, and some of them had bows. Legolas reacted before even these scant details were fixed in Amy's mind - all she saw was a solid stripe of black armor and black skin - and Legolas was firing arrows. Gimli was using his throwing axes with deadly accuracy, flinging them and embedding them with a sickly crunch in the Uruk's skulls. Although Amy did see one or two who got up after being impaled, most of them stayed down. Aragorn's blade could barely be seen in the whirling rush of steel against steel. He was a whirlwind, a maelstrom of flashing armor and sparks as he battled furiously. Legolas, his bow now useless in this hand-to-hand situation, used his other White Knife and began slashing at the Uruks. Sam had wasted no time; she was grappling with one already, teeth bared in an ugly grimace as she struck again and again, sawing viciously at the Uruk's throat. Blood was drenching her from neck to knees, but Sam didn't seem to care.

Out of nowhere, a Uruk spotted Amy. He loped over with swaggering grace, and Amy screamed aloud. She backpedaled, swinging the knife in front of her wildly, and the Uruk batted it aside easily. Amy shrieked, and this time she flailed with the knife, driving it upwards. The blow glanced harmlessly off the Uruk's thick armor, and she saw his scimitar coming down at her exposed chest. She dodged to the side, heard it come whistling down and clatter on the rocks behind her. The Uruk howled with rage and this time swung again, the edge of his blade slicing at her neck. Amy dropped to a crouch and stabbed at the Uruk's exposed calves, and the monster brayed his discomfort by butting Amy in the head with the butt of his shield. A white-hot sheet of pain exploded behind Amy's eyes, and she was driven backwards, spread-eagled on the ground, stars bursting inside her vision. Colors and textures swam lazily together, and she distantly heard the dull thud of the Uruk falling to the ground. Amy blinked, but even that simple motion sent more fireworks sizzling through her skull. Pain radiated through her head, which was still ringing, and she couldn't move. She decided now would be an excellent time to pass out, which she readily did. Black roses bloomed in her vision, the curves and edges melting together until they formed one solid abyss which beckoned with hidden delights.

* * *

><p>Lizzie stood by the river, swearing madly. Her blonde hair was frizzy with running and sweat was beading on her brow. She had ranted and raved, cajoled and pleaded, but no Frodo - and more importantly, no Ring - appeared. She stood there, leg jittering with anger and pent-up frustration. Merry and Pippin came dashing into the clearing, eyes wide. "Elizabeth!" Merry cried frantically. "Frodo's leavin'! You've got to stop him!" Lizzie calmly combed her fingers through her hair, patting down her banner of tangles which would take hours with a comb to get out. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and licked her lips patiently.<p>

"Don't worry," she said sweetly, "He'll come back." She could still feel the Ring calling to her, so it couldn't be far off. Something moved behind a tree, and Lizzie's eyes narrowed. She could just make out Frodo half hidden in the darkness, cloaked with shadow, large eyes wet with tears and panic. Merry and Pippin looked completely befuddled, and she laughed. It was not her burbling laugh that usually echoed from her throat, but something sharper and higher, cold as the north winds and sharp as the edge of a knife.

The Uruks pounded down the slope, raging war cries ripping from their throats as they stormed down the hill. The largest of them had white war paint smeared on his cheeks, stringy, greasy hair pulled into a plait. Dripping fangs were bared as they hurtled straight for the Hobbits. For the first time, Lizzie felt fear. These creatures wouldn't obey her if she told them to stop; she didn't have the Ring yet. She threw up her hands and was about to crumple theatrically to the floor with a cry of dismay when something lunged through the trees, sword swinging. A sound filled the air, full, rich, and sweet. It was deeper that the oceans depths and louder than the angel's chorus; it shook the ground and the very stones cried out their agreement as the sound blasted yet again. The shape slashed through the Uruks, felling them left and right.

It was Boromir!

She saw the look on his face and wanted to stamp her feet. He was going to _protect_ the Hobbits, damn him! Boromir, the defender. Boromir, the brave. Boromir, the protector. Why did he have to be so damned noble and mess everything up? His sword carved grooves in the air as he hewed limbs from torsos, drove edges into bodies, wrenching the sword out with sure, deft strokes. His blonde hair swung in his face as he dueled, and she saw perspiration beading his forehead. Then, out of nowhere, an arrow sank into his chest. She saw his face go white, his body cave inwards. She almost let out a whoop, then caught herself as Boromir pulled himself together and blocked the scimitar of another Uruk. He drove his sword through the Uruk-Hai and slaughtered another one, the arrow broken off but still dripping blood. Another arrow slammed into him, and this time a strangled cry tore from his lips. His eyes were gauzy and dim, and this time he dropped to one knee. Lizzie remained motionless on the ground, feeling a vicious smile spread over her mouth.

He got up.

His face contorted in a snarl of rage, his sword clove a Uruk in two as he growled. Uruks piled in on him, and there was nothing but Boromir's sword clashing against metal, and the sound of Uruks grunting. Another arrow sped through the thicket of Uruks, and this time Boromir slumped to his knees. The Uruks backed off, howling their triumph at the skies as the warrior swayed on his knees. The Uruk who had been wielding the bow took aim, a maniacal grin on his face. Lizzie was frozen, undecided. The Ring was crying out to her, but so was Boromir. She saw the hurt in his eyes. The pain. The anguish.

But the Ring still called.

Merry and Pippin were borne aloft, struggling and kicking, and thrown upon the broad backs of Uruk-Hai. Lizzie stood up abruptly. "Hey!" she shouted, and attracted the attention of a good many Uruks. Too many Uruks. "I need to go with you," she said coldly. "Take me along." The beasts wavered, undecided. Then there was a tiny nod from among the ranks. It clearly said, _Well, we can always eat her_. Lizzie was hauled by her hair a good three steps, and she shrieked aloud to the heavens. She was thrown bodily across the back of a Uruk, and half of the Uruks began to make their way back home. The bow-wielding Uruk-Hai, however, was still eyeing Boromir. His powerful arm drew back as he took aim at Boromir's chest.

The Uruk was decapitated by Aragorn's sword as the ranger hurtled down the hillside. He bounded the last few steps, managing to bruise his ankles in the process, but the pain went wholly unnoticed as he dropped to his knees by Boromir's side. He pressed a hand firmly to Boromir's chest, seeing the blood drench his tunic and hand, and closed his eyes. "Boromir," he said hoarsely. Boromir's eyes opened halfway, and Aragorn saw the hazy film that only dead men have.

"Aragorn...my brother," Boromir rasped. "They took...the little ones...and Elizabeth." He swallowed hard, scraping every ounce of strength as he fumbled around his last words. Aragorn tore a strip of his tunic with his teeth and moved for one of the arrows buried in Boromir's left pectoral. "Frodo...Where is he?" Boromir gasped.

"I let Frodo leave," Aragorn said. Boromir closed his eyes.

"Truly, you deserve kingship...You have done what I could not." He passed his tongue over dry lips. "Forgive me...my brother, my captain, my king. I would have...followed you."

"Boromir!" Aragorn cried, and once again moved for the arrow. Boromir gripped his wrist with surprising strength.

"Give Elizabeth...my love." Boromir, son of Gondor, defender of Hobbits, died. He had lived a full life, won much and lost little.

And he had loved only one woman.

* * *

><p>Sam limped through the clearing, sticky black Uruk blood coating her tunic. Amy was leaning on her heavily, her eyes half closed. The two of them supported each other through the woods and gingerly down the slope, moving in towards Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn. Sam was still battling the exhilaration that only battle can give, and Amy was still halfway unconscious. Legolas was tying two chaps to his wrists, securing Boromir's wrist guards to remember him. Sam inhaled sharply when she saw Boromir's body, and she covered her mouth. "Oh my god," she whispered. "He's...?"<p>

"They will look for his coming," Aragorn said grimly, still looking at Boromir's prone form. "But they will not see him. He is with the Valar; and rightly so. He died a brave, honest death."

Legolas's dark blue eyes turned across the river, sharp elvish senses catching the sight of two small figures crossing the river. He shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, but Aragorn shook his head. Legolas felt a dizzying wave of shock pass over him. "You mean not to follow them?" Legolas asked numbly.

"Frodo's fate is his own. His courage will prevail." Aragorn said. Gimli rocked back on his heels, just as shocked as Legolas. They exchanged glances, and then Gimli said what they were all thinking.

"We have failed them. All of us, we have failed." Gimli hung his head. Shame colored his cheeks. Aragorn gripped his shoulder hard, forcing the dwarf to look up at him. Aragorn's steel eyes shone with new resolve.

"No. We shall hunt down the beasts who captured Merry and Pippin. We will stay true to one another, and we shall be at each other's sides. Come, friends. Let us give Boromir a decent burial. And then, we shall hunt some Orc."

They began saying silent prayers over Boromir's body. Had any of them chanced to look up, they would have seen a majestic silver stag with dark eyes that captured eternity.

* * *

><p><strong>Coming Soon!<strong>

_**Well Behaved Women Seldom Kick Butt**_

**As Amy and Sam embark on their quest to save Merry and Pippin, Lizzie launches an evil plan of her own. While the Fellowship struggles to save Middle Earth, Amy and Legolas battle with their own emotions. And Sam just wants to kick some major ass. **


End file.
